


The Songs They Will Sing

by the_queenmaker



Category: Dong Bang Shin Ki, K-pop
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Historical, Dark, Dragons, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-13
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 05:32:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_queenmaker/pseuds/the_queenmaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Game of Thrones AU. A prince without a kingdom, a lord without a name, and how how the two of them carve themselves into history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

  


He was the second heir to the great and noble House Jung, and not a day has passed since his birth without his brother reminding him of this very important fact. They were descendants of the Conqueror, the great dragonlord who united the Seven Kingdoms and forged the Iron Throne from the swords of their enemies. Dragon’s blood flowed in their veins and they were meant to rule—never mind that their kingdom was on the other side of the narrow sea and the Usurper sat upon his brother’s throne. 

 

Yonghwa would reclaim his throne on the gravestone of three houses: House Kim, whose daughter seduced their oldest brother Jihoon, whose heir called his sister’s elopement a kidnapping and raised his banners in rebellion of the crown. House Choi, family of the Usurper, who joined House Kim and smashed through Jihoon’s armor with his war hammer before cutting off his head and feeding it to the crows. Lastly, House Lee, family of the Kingslayer, who swore an oath to defend the royal family and then turned around and put a sword in their father’s back; House Lee, whose guards broke into the inner chamber and murdered Jihoon’s wife and his two infant daughters. 

 

Their mother had escaped across the Narrow Sea, Yonghwa a toddler and Yunho still within her belly, making it onto the shores of the Eastern Continent before Yunho’s birth had taken her life—Yonghwa never forgave him for that and Yunho never once blamed him. 

 

“Never forget, little brother,” Yonghwa would hiss as his fingers dug angry red marks into Yunho’s arm. “When I am King, I will lay waste to the enemies of our House. I am the dragon and I will make them tremble with fear.” 

 

 _You and what army?_ Yunho always wanted to ask, but never once found the courage to. They survived off the pity and sympathy of others. “The Beggar Princes”, they were called—no coins lined their pockets and no man heeded their call. They couldn’t settle anywhere to build a stronghold, with Yonghwa constantly on the move. 

 

“They pursue us still,” Yonghwa snapped angrily one day, when Yunho pleaded on behalf of staying. Maester Yoon’s house was warm and inviting, his staff treated them kindly, and he had become friends with the gardener’s son. Yunho held his cheek where Yonghwa had struck him and tried his best not to let his tears leak out. “The Usurper will not stop until our House has been wiped off the face of the planet. I’m doing this to protect you, don’t you understand?” 

 

 _I’ve never seen even a shadow of The Usurper,_ he wanted to shout. _I want to go home, and the Seven Kingdoms from your stories is not home._

 

But Yonghwa was the only family he had in the whole world, so Yunho followed obediently as they stole away further East, towards the Free Cities. And then, suddenly, Yonghwa’s persistence paid off when he conspired to wed his younger brother to a nomadic horse queen with a warrior tribe of forty-thousand. 

 

“I am the rightful king to the Seven Kingdoms,” Yonghwa sniffed. “When I ascend the throne, it would be most unfitting for me to be attached to such _filth_ \--why is why you must do it for me, dear brother.” 

 

Yunho never once said ‘no’ to Yonghwa, and he couldn’t start now, even if it meant spending the rest of his life among savages who worshiped horses and swept through villages like a plague, leaving only death and destruction in their wake. 

 

Among the many tribes of horse-worshipping clans, his wife was the only woman who led a tribe—undoubtedly why Yonghwa had chosen to ally with her, because he saw women as weak, inferior creatures he could bend to his will. She was not a big woman, but Yunho saw at once the steel in her eyes, the ripple of muscle on her arms and legs, and the catlike grace of her walk. Yonghwa saw only her diminutive height and the small lumps on her chest. Yunho saw her riders who flanked her and followed her every command, full grown men easily twice the size of their queen. 

 

Her name was Boa, and she would be the sun and stars of his life until the day she died.

//

His name was Kim Jaejoong, but he was not part of the House. Just because his father had deemed to give him a surname, didn’t make him any less of a bastard.

 

He knew the stories as well as everyone else. His father had married the Lady Kim before marching south to rescue his sister. When he came back, he brought not Kim Yoojin, but a suckling babe roughly the same age as his trueborn son. His father never revealed the identity of the mother, and he forbade the Northern court from speaking of her. Whoever his mother was, his father must have loved her dearly, and the Lady Kim never forgave Jaejoong for it. 

 

Still, under the circumstances, he supposed his childhood could have been worse. His older half-brother Kangin, the trueborn heir to House Kim, loved him like a brother and never treated him as any less despite his low birth. His father’s ward, Changmin of House Shim, rubbed his status in his face at every given opportunity, but would draw his sword on anyone who dared speak the word “bastard” within earshot. His half-sister Hyoyeon, to whom he rarely spoke, an insipid and pretty little thing who lived in songs and dreamed of knights—unfortunately, she took after her mother, and her eyes spoke accusingly without her mouth ever opening. His younger half-brother Junsu, weak in the body but strong in the heart, dreamed of adventure and knighthood—he wouldn’t ever be tall or strong enough to wield the broadsword of the realm effectively, but it wasn’t his place to stop Junsu from dreaming. Lastly, there was Ryeowook, his younger half-sibling, a quiet and thoughtful boy who was everyone’s favorite person. 

 

When he was fourteen years old, the King called his father south to the Capital to be his Hand, and Jaejoong had taken the opportunity to plead his father to send him to the wall, so he could join the Night’s Watch. The Wall was a vast fortification along the northernmost border of the Seven Kingdoms. Men who pledged their lives to the Wall were not allowed properties, wives, or families. Their lives were forfeit to the realm in service once they swore the oath, and the penalty for desertion was death. Jaejoong had been present at more than enough executions to know how serious his decision was. 

 

“You don’t want to do that,” his father had said to him, pained. “You do not yet know the touch of a woman; you do not know what you’d be giving up.” But the Lady Kim would never allow him to remain in the north while her husband was absent, so Jaejoong pushed until his father gave in. 

 

Kangin had honored him with the manliest of all manly farewells, a clap on the back and an approving jerk of the head. Changmin had punched him in the arm and called him a bastard before pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. Ryeowook said nothing, and Jaejoong braved the Lady Kim’s wrath to see him one last time as his youngest half-brother laid in bed, broken and unmoving from a sudden and mysterious fall. They would be the ones left behind in the north. 

 

Hyoyeon said nothing to him at all, so enamored she was with the King’s son and her betrothed, Choi Dongwook. Junsu had cried when they said their final goodbyes, throwing his arms around Jaejoong and blubbering like a child. He would have to toughen up—the capital city was no place for the weak—but it was not his duty to teach Junsu anything, so Jaejoong held on tight until Junsu was read to let go. When their roads diverged, his father nudged his horse beside Jaejoong, and spoke quietly so only he could hear. 

 

“The next time we meet, I will tell you of your mother,” his father said, a depth in his eyes that spoke of great pain. “You will know who you are, I swear to you.” 

 

Jaejoong’s heart had jumped at the words. His father did not make promises lightly, but when he did, not even the threat of burning in dragonfyre could make him break his word. He completed the rest of the journey with a light heart, with Ghost stalking quietly alongside his horse. 

 

He remembered the day they discovered the body of Ghost’s mother, the first direwolf to be seen south of the Wall in nearly two hundred years, and the five pups buried in her dead fur. All the Kim children had their own direwolf, sigil of their House, but his was special. An albino pup, the outsider even in her own litter, Ghost had grown stronger and faster than the others and Jaejoong had thought her an accurate reflection of himself. 

 

At the end of all things, she was his greatest ally, his most loyal companion. Jaejoong knew that if ever he were pass on, his Ghost would linger.

//

The Tribe travelled east instead of crossing the Narrow Sea, much to his brother’s displeasure. Yonghwa continued to be difficult, complaining loudly, sweating through his impractical silks, and swearing with every jarring of the wheels. The cart was reserved only for the broken people—the old, the sick, the injured—you’d sooner walk than ride the cart, yet Yonghwa sat with his back stiff as though he was a king.

 

Yunho understood better their precarious position and kept his mouth shut even when his inner thighs chaffed raw from constant riding. He quietly took up the arakh, a curved blade, half-sword half-scythe, and learned how to wield it in spite of his brother’s scoffs that such weapons were useless against the steel mail of the Seven Kingdoms. A thousand cuts later, after countless bruises to his skin and pride, Yunho unarmed his Queen’s right-hand man. It was not a true fight, for no lifeblood was spilt, but his wife rose from her seat, eyes glittering with pride. Later that night, in the midst of their furious love-making, a child was conceived. 

 

The stronger and more settled Yunho became, the more restless Yonghwa grew. Truly, he had not expected his weak, obedient little brother to become accepted, even welcomed among the savages. His demands for his promised army grew louder and louder until, in his drunken state, he threatened to cut the child from Boa’s belly if they did not give him the golden crown he deserved. 

 

Poor Yonghwa, he never even tried understood the customs of the Tribe. He played a prince to the end, right until the moment when Boa’s riders held him down and she ‘crowned’ him with a waterfall of molten gold. 

 

Yunho watched, impassive, as his brother dropped to the dirt with a heavy, sickening thud. He was now the sole surviving heir of House Jung, the great and noble house of the dragonlords, descendants of The Conqueror, who mounted a dragon as the Tribe mounted a horse. Yunho thought of the three petrified dragon eggs in his possession, wedding gifts from the matchmaker who arranged his marriage, which Yonghwa had tried to steal to barter a sellsword army. 

 

Yonghwa proclaimed himself ‘the Dragon’ every opportunity he had, but he was not a true dragon.

//

His father was right: Jaejoong hadn’t a clue what he got himself into. He had thought of the Wall of a noble undertaking, a brotherhood of men who gave up all the pleasures of life in dedication to defending the realm. Instead, he found himself one in a host of murderers, rapists, and thieves, who took the black to escape death.

 

Yet eventually, he found friends among his brothers in black. There was Hyunjoong, a baseborn from the north who killed a magistrate for laying hands on his sister. There was Seunghyun, a highborn from the Stormlands whose father deemed unfit to inherit and forced him to take the black upon the threat of death, so his right to property would pass to his younger brother. There was Donghae, a petty thief from the Westerlands who had the bad luck to steal from the Lord of House Lee, and countless others. 

 

He said his vows and pledged himself to the Wall. Over the next five years, he tried three times to break them. The first time, when his father was sentenced to death for treason against the king and his trueborn brother Kangin raised his banners against the throne. The second time, when he received news of Kangin’s death and the northern armies fell to the armies of the Throne. The third time, when the castle of House Kim falls to traitors and Shim Changmin sliced off the head of his youngest brother, Ryeowook. Thrice, he rode south, knowing he was sentencing himself to death, and thrice his brothers brought him back. 

 

“Your place is here,” Hyunjoong told him when he spoke of Junsu, who disappeared after the newly crowned King Dongwook chopped off his father’s head and even Hyoyeon, who disappeared after the newly crowned King Dongwook drank poisoned wine and died in the arms of his screaming Queen mother. “Junsu knows you are at the Wall, so you need to be here when he searches for you.” 

 

“I know,” Jaejoong replied quietly. Ghost came to a stop by his side, alert and ready. She was as big as a small pony by now, and all men shied away from her flashing red eyes. Jaejoong thought of the last band of wildlings from north beyond the wall. His direwolf camouflaged into the snow and none of them knew of her until Ghost ripped into their jugular. 

 

“I was never good at waiting,” he said finally. “Now, it seems waiting is all that I do.”

//

He had thought himself free from the duties of House Jung now that Yonghwa was dead. He had thought himself free from the shadow of the Iron Throne, the further east he went. Surely, the Usurper would not waste so much time chasing a memory, surely all the swords in the darkness was a mere fragment of Yonghwa’s twisted paranoia.

 

How foolish he was. Yunho was the only person who could legitimately challenge for the throne of the Seven Kingdoms and his wife was great with child. Too late, he realized the depth of the Usurper’s hatred and he paid dearly for his ignorance—his wife and his unborn child, gone. Poison took her—a coward’s weapon—an insulting death for the Queen of Kings. Their son would have been the stallion who mounted the world; instead, he will be forever unborn. 

 

Tribal custom dictated that the wife burn alongside her husband in the event of his death. If Boa’s warriors were hesitant to enforce this tradition, Yunho was not. He asked for his dragon eggs and they were brought to him. He lit the flames himself and stepped into the burning pyre, unafraid. 

 

 _Fire cannot kill a dragon._

 

When nothing remained but ashes and smoke, he emerged from the cinders, unscathed. The dragon eggs were gone, replaced by the living, breathing creatures—the first of their kind to walk the land in a hundred years. 

 

Forty-thousand warriors bend their knee to him and though they were Boa’s warriors, they belong to him now in a way they could not have been hers. The pale dragon with the golden crests, he will name for his brother Yonghwa. The green dragon with the bronze scales, he will name for his oldest brother Jihoon. The black dragon with the red wings, who immediately staked its seat atop his right shoulder, he will name in honor of his wife Boa. 

 

“To where?” They asked him.

 

“Further east,” he told them. His dragons were hatchlings still, and they would need time to grow. His army was large, but he would need more warriors if he hoped to wage war. When his dragons were fully grown, when his armies stretched as far as the eye could see, he would cross the Narrow Sea and take what was rightfully his. 

 

They would all die. Fire and blood, they would all die.

//

All men stood equal on the Wall. Even a bastard son could attain glory, and that was precisely what happened to Jaejoong. His men voted him the 998th Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and he held his station even as civil war threatened to tear apart the very kingdom he protected. He fought to maintain peace within his own ranks, for vows did very little to make men forget their homeland, and his men hailed from all corners of the realm.

 

One by one, the kings who laid claim to the Iron Throne fall, to battle, to slaughter, to shadows and unending intricacies. Week after week, ravens arrive with messages from the south, and through all of it, Jaejoong waited. 

 

When someone from House Kim finally found him at the wall, it was not Junsu as he had hoped, but Hyoyeon—pretty, courtly Hyoyeon who left for the capital without saying goodbye. She was taller now and even prettier than before, a spitting image of her mother the late Lady Kim. Upon seeing his face, much to his alarm, she burst into tears and threw herself at him, the word “brother” hanging unspoken in the air. 

 

“Careful, Hyoyeon-ah,” he said quietly as he patted her head uncertainly. “The winds are so cold your tears will turn to ice.” 

 

She laughed at this and he noted the thinness of her shoulders, the uneven bumps of healed bone underneath her thick cloak. How she must have suffered at the hands of Choi Dongwook and his mother from House Lee, all alone in the Capital after their father’s execution. Her direwolf was no longer by her side and she looked upon Ghost with envy. 

 

Yet for all of her suffering, Hyoyeon had grown strong. She was backed by the Vale in the east, and she already reclaimed the ward of the North from the traitorous Kang family who betrayed Kangin and burned their home to the ground. 

 

“Junsu disappeared from King's Landing the day father was executed,” she told him, and her voice did not falter once. “And there are tales from north of the wall of the broken little King and the silver direwolf he rides upon. They could both be still alive, and I intend for them to have a home to return to.” 

 

“When did you learn to speak like that, Kim Hyoyeon?” Jaejoong asked teasingly. 

 

“I was a wolf surrounded by lions,” she said, and they both laughed at that. Whispers of House Lee had reached even the Wall. Even though one of their own sat upon the throne, a Choi in name but a Lee in blood, only a fool would think that child would keep his crown for long. “Jaejoong, you could come with me—“ 

 

“I am not one of yours,” he interrupted. Ghost sat on her haunches in the corner of the room, still as a picture. “My place is on the Wall, and I am no wolf.” 

 

“No...I suppose you aren’t.” Hyoyeon looked hesitant, but continued to speak. “I met a healer on the way here, an old blind man. I thought him senile until his deathbed confession to me. He told me he presided over the birth of the child my father Lord Kim took back North with him after the fall of Jung Jihoon.” 

 

Jaejoong’s heart stopped. 

 

“I can tell you,” she said quietly. “If you wanted.” 

 

His father had promised him the same thing an eternity ago. He should have known by now, if Choi Dongwook had allowed his father to take the black instead of cutting his head off in front of a screaming mob. He had given up on ever knowing the identity of his mother, but at this point...

 

Hyoyeon took one look at his face and understood immediately. “When you are ready,” she said comfortingly, and patted his hand. He couldn’t help but marvel at her then, a glass doll who had turned to steel under pressure. Their father would have been proud, if only he were alive. Suddenly, she spoke again. “It is best if you remained here on the Wall until the war has been fought.” 

 

Jaejoong cocked his head. “I thought the war was already over,” he said. One king sat upon the throne, ruled by his lioness mother, and his opposition had their heads mounted on spikes. 

 

“Haven’t you heard, my brother?” Hyoyeon laughed. “Tidings are coming in fast from across the Narrow Sea. House Jung has risen from the ashes and they bring dragons with them. Those in the Capital still sing their summer songs, but winter is coming”


	2. Part I

  


At the end of five years, Jung Yunho finally turned back west and fixed his eyes on the Iron Throne. His army had grown to over two hundred-thousand strong; bloodthirsty warriors who prayed to the horse-gods and possessed no sense of sin or shame. They would follow him across the Narrow Sea, over the water their horses would not drink, if he so commanded.

 

The Seven Kingdoms hear of his name long before he raised his ships. _The Barbarian Prince_ , they called him when he began uniting the other Tribes under his banner, the familiar three-headed red dragon on black. When his conquests continued without any sign of slowing down, they began speaking of his new title in hushed whispers: _The Dragon King._

 

His dragons had grown, thriving in the wake of destruction and battle. Hwayong was the smallest, only slightly larger than the stallion that had been his wife’s mount, but he could fly into a thunderstorm and dance between the raindrops. Jiyong was next, three times the size of Hwayong, and the most intelligent of his brothers. His levelheadedness and ability to keep Hwayong in check contributed greatly to many of Yunho’s victories, and ensured that there would be spoils for his warriors at the end of battle. Boyong was the largest, the wildest, and the most fearsome of the three. She was Yunho’s own mount, dark and red, with a wingspan so wide it could block out the sun. She was as fearsome as her namesake, and nothing could withstand her. 

 

He unleashed all three of them upon the harbors of his ancestral home. The navy of the Seven Kingdoms was no match for his aerial assault and Dragonstone yielded to him as though it had been waiting for its rightful master all this time. His ships land safely and his two hundred-thousand warriors sweep across the land like pestilence. 

 

The capital city of King's Landing was the first to fall. Whatever the Tribes lacked for in technology, they made up for in aggression and mobility. The knights who marched out to the battlefield were thrown by their screaming, wild ways, and they were lost from the moment they broke rank. His archers rained arrows into the fleeing masses, his warriors slaughtered those who stood and fought, and his dragons burn the walls of the city into the ground. 

 

Boyong took him into the upper turrets of the Red Keep and he laid his eyes on the Iron Throne for the first time. The Conqueror, of whom he descended from, had forged it using dragonfyre and the swords of his fallen enemies. He had expected something a bit more impressive from Yonghwa’s tales, but he ran his hand across the back of it and found that many of the blades were still sharp. A ghost of a smile crossed Yunho’s face. His father had died on this throne, and now it was his.

 

The ruling family was dragged before him and he looked them all in the eye when he ordered their execution. The son of the Usurper was the first to die, followed by his sister, who threw herself on the blood-soaked floor of the Throne Room and begged for mercy as she sobbed hysterically. Yunho thought of Jihoon’s wife, who was disgraced before she was murdered, and of his niece, who was dragged out kicking and screaming from under her bed before being put to the sword, and showed no mercy. The Queen was the last to die, her face a frozen mask and her lips tight. For a moment, Yunho felt a twinge of something like remorse, but it did not last. Her twin brother put a sword in his father’s back, so she had to die too.

 

On the funeral pyre of his warrior queen and their unborn son, Yunho made a promise to both of them: 

 

 _”I will take what is mine, with fire and blood.”_

 

And he did.

//

The Barbarian Prince was weeks into his scourge before Jaejoong received his first raven. They came in flocks: House Lee of the Golden Rock and House Choi of Storm’s End demanded that he rallied the Night’s Watch to avenge the fallen boy-king, while House Park of the Sunspear and House Kwon of Highgarden ordered him to submit his forces to the true king. To each of them, Jaejoong replied with the same sentiments:

 

_The Night’s Watch serves no king, only the realm._

 

The ravens return with angry words, with threats, and eventually nothing at all. No word of any form arrived from Kim Hyoyeon. 

 

“You’ll incite the wrath of whoever is left standing,” Hyunjoong warned.

 

“Let them have their outrage,” Jaejoong shrugged. “I swore an oath.” 

 

“You’re not at all concerned that he’ll come north once he’s done burning the south?” Seunghyun asked. He hailed from the Stormlands, and his land was the first to face the dragon’s fury. “Wasn’t your father one of instigators of the rebellion?” 

 

“He would have to defeat the Warden of the East and the Warden of the West before he can take the north,” Jaejoong shrugged. “The Golden Rock has never fallen to invaders and the Eyrie is near impregnable in its defenses. Even if both of them should fall, the damage dealt to the Barbarian Prince will be significant, even with his dragons.” 

 

“Besides, the Kingslayer of Golden Rock will not go down easily,” Hyunjoong said, and smirked. “Jung Yunho executed his twin sister and—if the rumors are to be believed—their children as well.” 

 

“Be mindful of how you speak of the dead,” Jaejoong admonished without much heat. The Queen had plotted his father’s downfall and her son had ordered his execution. He would not sink as low as to revel in their deaths, but he would not shed tears for them either. 

 

“What of your half-sister then?” Seunghyun pressed. “She has not declared for either side. House Han of the Vale stands loyal to her, but if they should fall, the North is not yet strong enough to take on three dragons.” 

 

“He’ll have her head, make no mistake,” Hyunjoong added unnecessarily, because he was an ass. “The Choi princess cried out her pretty little eyes for him, and his idea of mercy was to roast her alive.” 

 

He had not heard that piece of information. Jaejoong only laid eyes on her once before, when her father had taken his company north to declare the Lord Kim his new hand. Choi Sooyoung was only nine years old then, a spitting image of her lady mother, and she gazed at Kangin adoringly and blushed when it was appropriate. Hyoyeon had been like that, once upon a time, but she was no longer. If Choi Sooyoung had a chance at all to grow…well, what did it matter? Now, she was nothing but ashes. 

 

“House Shim has declared for House Jung?” He asked instead. From the corner of his room, Ghost’s tail flickered. 

 

“They say Shim Changmin rides at the head of the savages,” Seunghyun confirmed. 

 

“Then the north is safe,” Jaejoong said. His brothers-in-black turned to him in surprise. 

 

“Shim Changmin killed your brother and sacked your home,” Hyunjoong said bluntly. “Or did the winds sweep away your memories?” 

 

“Ryeowook is still alive,” Jaejoong said crossly. _So is Junsu_ , he wanted to add, but does not. As of late, his mind has returned frequently to thoughts of his middle-sibling, the closest of his half-brothers. When they were young, Junsu dreamed of being a knight, even though his stature would never cut an imposing figure and his training with a broadsword yielded less-than-satisfactory results. He had to believe that Junsu had succeeded in learning how to fight, how to survive. He had to believe that Junsu had escaped the capital city somehow. 

 

Still, no tales of a boy and his yellow-eyed direwolf south of the Wall reach his ears, and his relentless inner voice reasoned that, if Junsu was indeed still alive, he should have found his way to the Wall by now, where Jaejoong had been waiting all this time. 

 

“Anything you say, my lord,” Hyunjoong replied with a mocking bow. 

 

Communication from the south halted soon afterward, and two months passed by with naught a bird in the sky. Men trickled in from all corners of the realm, torn and maimed, eyes wide with terror, whispering tales of dragons and screaming warriors. They join the Night’s Watch, as though taking the black would provide them any form of sanctuary. Jaejoong assigned them all to be builders and put them to work resurrecting the seventeen defunct watchtowers. Men who came to the Wall in times of war would resent it once the danger had passed, and he had no use for half-hearted stewards and rangers. 

 

Finally, they received a raven and the letter it carried bore the seal of House Kim. “The Dragon King rides north in peace,” Seunghyun read, almost in disbelief. “He requests the presence of the Lord Commander in Castle North.” 

 

“How convenient,” Hyunjoong drawled, though his expression was pinched. “The King seeks to cut off all the heads your family at once—the legitimate and the illegitimate.” 

 

“He does not seek to wage war,” Jaejoong corrected. “Even a fool knows not to wage war with the north with winter on its way. If I had to guess, I would think our Dragon King is learning diplomacy.”

 

“So the Wall is declaring for House Jung, then?” Hyunjoong asked innocently. 

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Jaejoong snorted. “The Wall declares for no man.”

//

The Kingslayer lived up to his name—he had learned from the downfall of Dragonstone and Storm’s End, and his knights did not ride out to do combat on the battlefield. He targeted the horses, who threw their riders when they were frightened, and made the difference in armor and weaponry felt by both sides. Yunho’s warriors suffered huge casualties, and Boyong took to the skies before House Lee’s banner-men betrayed him, in a delicious kind of irony, and sent the Kingslayer out of the city gates in chains.

 

Following the surrender of the Golden Rock, Yunho began preparations to take his war to the Eyrie in the Vale of House Han, and then the North of House Kim. Much to his annoyance, his generals demonstrate hesitance for the first time. 

 

“The Eyrie is surrounded by near impenetrable mountain ranges,” Shim Changmin said as his fingers flew to indicators on the geographical map. Most visitors require a guide to complete the journey safely, and even the most skilled of your horsemen cannot traverse the mountainside in one piece, much less an entire army marching on at once.” 

 

“My dragons—“ 

 

“The Vale is the only one of the seven to possess the means to take down your dragons,” Park Yoochun interrupted. “Even your dragons are not immune to trebuchets and missile turrets, especially when only one of them has a rider.” 

 

“Then we will ride north and take House Kim first.” 

 

“Unwise, your grace,” Changmin said, perhaps a little too quickly. “The North is too vast a territory and the summer months are almost over. The north winds will bring the cold before you ever reach the seat of House Kim and the frozen months grow longer every year. Your horsemen will not survive waging war against them.” 

 

“You were fostered by the Lord Kim, were you not?” Yunho’s eyes glinted dangerously. “Are you speaking now out of fealty to me or concern for them?” Changmin flinched. “House Han aided House Kim and House Choi in their rebellion,” he continued. “They must die, by fire or blood, and my dragons do not fear the cold.” 

 

“Your warriors do.” Changmin said, with an almost admirably imprudent bravery. “The other houses will not follow you without the horsemen of your Tribe, and half of them have fallen to illness and disease. We cannot keep fighting an endless war. What use is it to tear down the walls of strongholds when they cannot be used to guard your kingdom? What use is it to burn the land barren and rule over a wasteland?” 

 

Yunho glowered. “Then what do you suggest?” he spat. 

 

“Negotiate surrender with the Vale and the North.” 

 

“Never.” 

 

“The brother of Kim Yoojin is dead, executed for treason against the Usurper,” Changmin argued. “The seat of the north under the rule of his daughter, Kim Hyoyeon, and she is still in the process of rebuilding what the last wardens destroyed. She will be receptive to a truce and House Han will follow in her lead.” 

 

“Her bastard half-brother is Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch,” Park Yoochun said from the other side of the room. “He heads a militia of over ten-thousand. His duty is to keep out of the realm’s political affairs, but he may not be as honorable as his lord father.” 

 

He heard the truth in their arguments, even as his blood boiled for war. He left his warriors in the central grassland that had been Riverrun, that he had Dragonstone absorb, and took only a small company as he traveled north. He left Hwayong in Dragonstone and Boyong in the Golden Rock, but Jiyong he took took with him. The North would not appreciate displays of grandeur and Jiyong was the calmest of the three.

 

A week into the journey, the northern winds cooled his blood, and he grudgingly realized the prudence of his generals. The North was vast, with few settlements and a great stretch of land in between each one. Men in the north did not fight as warriors; they stood as though they were sentinels. 

 

“Why does the Seven Kingdoms hold the North as their own?” Yunho asked to his company. “They have no great warriors to further their name and they contribute nothing to the realm.” 

 

“The North guards us against the White Walkers,” Yoochun said, his voice mocking. “Beings from the north beyond the Wall who raise armies of dead and wield swords so cold they freeze all that they touch—at least, that is what the nursemaids say when they want to frighten small children.” 

 

“What do you say, Shim Changmin?” Yunho said, directing his attention to the young lord Shim, whose spine stiffened accordingly. “You lived here once before. Of all people, you should be able to provide an adequate explanation.” 

 

“The North exists because it cannot be held by outsiders,” Changmin said slowly after a pause. “It’s too big and too wild, and they have their own way. They claim to have descended from the First Men and they still celebrate the Old Gods. House Kim commands the northerners’ loyalties and exerts a great amount of influence.” 

 

“They fancy themselves kings, then?” Yunho scoffed. 

 

“Not kings,” Changmin said, almost to himself. “Guardians, more like.” 

 

Changmin did not speak anymore of the North and Yunho deigned not to ask any more questions. A fortnight later, they arrive at the seat of House Kim. He had expected a fortress at the very least and was thoroughly disappointed. The castle was thoroughly unimpressive—oh, it was certainly big enough, but just an ordinary large castle. Parts of its outer wall looked as though they had only recently been rebuilt and a few of its towers were still charred and broken. 

 

 _My dragons could have taken this_ Yunho thought with disgust. 

 

Yet the northerners greeted him, not with the tips of their broadswords, but a polite incline of their heads. Kim Hyoyeon received him graciously, her vassals a comfortable distance away. She was a striking young woman—not particularly beautiful, but with piercing eyes and a stillness that ran deep and commanded respect. There was an almost imperceptible twinge in her right shoulder, as though she had dislocated her shoulder and never had it set properly, but if he had not suffered a similar injury, Yunho never would have known. 

 

“The North welcomes the throne of the South,” she said with only the barest nod of acknowledgement instead of a curtsy, and she did not smile or simper. Yunho decided he liked her more because of it. She extended similar platitudes to Yoochun and Changmin. 

 

“My apologies for the death of your Lord Husband,” Yoochun said, rather rudely, as the ‘Lord Husband’ in question had been estranged, and was one of the many who fell alongside House Lee. 

 

“His gold helped rebuild my home. He has served his purpose.” she said nonchalantly, with an unapologetic honesty. Her vassals do not hide their sneers and, compared to the mannerisms of soldiers of the south with their shiny armors and gallant ways, the north was a very different place indeed. 

 

Changmin, he noted, did not meet her eyes once. 

 

Kim Hyoyeon’s bastard half-brother arrived three days later, dressed from head to toe in black, as was the tradition. At the heels of his company was a massive snow-white direwolf with red eyes and sharp teeth, easily the size of Hwayong. 

 

Yunho had heard whispers from all around of the 998th Lord Commander. He was the youngest to ever achieve that station and the bravest or the most foolhardy, depending on who was telling the story. Legends were already forming of how he ventured frequently north of the Wall taking no one else but his Ghost and living to tell the tale. The realm had been at war for so long, years before Yunho ever crossed the Narrow Sea, and the Lord Commander had been left to his own devices. He made peace with the wildlings, free people who lived north beyond the Wall, and they near doubled the numbers of his official militia of ten-thousand. 

 

His hair was a shade darker than his half-sisters and his eyes were a shade lighter. He had the luminous pallor of one who rarely saw the sun, the smooth face of a man who rarely touched a razor, and he carried his blade with the ease of a man who slept holding the hilt in his hand. 

 

And yet for all the mystery and intrigue that surrounded this man, whatever Yunho had expected to see, he had not thought Kim Jaejoong to look quite so…delicate. 

 

Kim Jaejoong greeted his sister first: one knee bended and then he rose and kissed her warmly on the forehead. He glanced at Changmin next and a look passed between them that Yunho could not interpret. Then, Kim Jaejoong met his eyes and it was as though the horn of battle trumpeted in Yunho’s head. There was something familiar about him, just so, like an image in the smoke of the Tribal crones he could not decipher. Kim Jaejoong bowed, but his eyes did not leave Yunho’s face. 

 

“My lord,” he intoned quietly, and Jung Yunho’s heart, which did not quiver once in the face of fire, war, and almost certain death…skipped a beat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ Yunho’s method of war are largely based off of Genghis Khan’s military tactics.  
> \+ I thought about giving Yunho the name ‘Rising God of the East’ but I just couldn’t go through with it.  
> The names of Yunho's dragons:  
> → Hwayong = 화용/和龍, meaning 'peaceful dragon' (ironically enough)  
> → Boyong = 보용/寶龍, meaning 'precious dragon'  
> → Jiyong = 지용/智龍, meaning 'intelligent dragon', and is not to be confused with G-Dragon's Jiyong (지용/志龍), which means 'willful dragon'.


	3. Part II

He had expected the famed Barbarian Prince to be a bit older and a lot more kingly than the slim-faced young man who stood before him, looking thoroughly uncomfortable swaddled in his thick furs. His eyes were lined with kohl and a long, thin braid was looped twice around his neck. The sun had bronzed his skin and dyed his hair to a light-brown not commonly seen in the Seven Kingdoms—a true child of the summer, Old Nan would have called him. But he was Jaejoong’s king now.

 

“My lord,” he said, bowing deeply. He kept his head lowered until, out of his peripheral, he saw someone nudge Jung Yunho out of his stupor and he finally allowed Jaejoong to rise. If he were a lesser man, he would have taken offense to that; Jung Yunho would have to learn faster the manners of the realm if he wanted to be king. “I have brought someone who has been eager to meet you,” he said, and motioned for Hyunjoong to bring forth their traveler in the carriage. 

 

An ancient, weathered old man who’d seen over a hundred winters, Maester Yongun was bald, shrunken, and blind in both eyes. He was a permanent fixture on the Night’s Watch, having served for so long, that no brother on the Wall knew of his origins, only that he was someone whose counsel was valued and respected. It was him who talked Jaejoong into remembering his vows all the times he tried to desert, by relating to him the story of his own despair, when his bloodline had been wiped out of existence—or so he was told. 

 

“I present to you, Jung Yongun, Maester of the Wall and the elder of every man in the Seven Kingdoms,” Jaejoong said as Yongun hobbled forward unassisted and struggled to his knees. Jung Yunho looked perturbed at the sight of Yongun’s unseeing gaze. 

 

“My brother was Jung Daesung, the fifth of his name, and his son Jung Yonghae, the second of his name,” Yongun said with a quivering voice. “And his son was Jung Jiwoon, the first of his name, and Jung Jiwoon was your father.“ In a second, Jung Yunho sprang forward, and the onlookers averted their gaze out of courtesy as he helped the old man to his feet. 

 

“Blood of my blood.” Maester Yongun stretched out his fingers, shaking with age, and touched Jung Yunho’s face, tracing over the contours before smiling widely. “Never had I thought I would ever be able to say those words again.” 

 

They were abruptly dismissed. As Jung Yunho led the old man away, Hyoyeon caught Jaejoong’s eyes from across the courtyard, and shot him an approving smile.

//

They entered the secluded refuge of the northern Godswood to talk, taking only Jiyong as their guard. His great-grand-uncle had been so delighted by the touch of dragonscales against his palm that soon, Yunho’s life story was spilling forth as though a dam was unmade. Yongun listened attentively and reacted appropriately at all the higher and lower points of his story.

 

At the end of everything, a weathered old hand landed on his shoulder and held it. Yunho started at the touch, for no person had laid hands upon him easily since the birth of his dragons. But Yongun’s grip was surprisingly firm for such a withered old man, and his blind eyes gazed upon Yunho as though he could see. 

 

“Oh my child, you have done so well for yourself, for your name,” Yongun said sorrowfully. “And yet you have suffered so much because of it.” He was so old and so sad, and his expression made something constrict painfully in Yunho’s chest. 

 

“How could you stand it?” Yunho asked, because the Tribes taught candor and loathed a man who did not speak his mind. “Why didn’t you do anything?” 

 

Maester Yongun laughed. “You are not the first to ask me this question,” he said settling himself to a more comfortable position on the stone bench. “When I first heard word that Jihoon’s children had not been spared, I also had to contend with my vows. But in the end, what could I do? I was old, weak, and blind. Your mother had escaped, but if I had gone to her, she would only have another burden on her hands. I could only hope, and wait.” 

 

Yunho found that he had no response to that. Most men in the Tribes died honorably in battle before they reached old age and he had expected the same of himself. It never occurred to him until now, with the end of his conquest in sight that he would have to stop warring and start ruling. If he stopped fighting, he too could grow old and helpless. 

 

Belatedly, he realized that this ancient old man was probably the last person in all the Seven Kingdoms who he could claim as family, and the thought made his stomach churn. Suddenly, Yongun’s hand rested on his. Yunho balked at the familiarity of the gesture, but if Yongun noticed, he did not comment on it. 

 

“Because of you, dragons once again walk the earth,” he said. “If there is a king who can restore our line and bring honor to our house, it is you. Of this, I have no doubts.”

//

His childhood home looked as though it had gone through hell and back. The Great Hall was still littered with debris from when the ceiling collapsed during the sack of Castle North, and the Bell Tower and Maester’s Turret were both unusable. The outer walls were still intact, thankfully, and the Glass Garden had been untouched by the chaos, so at least the inhabitants would have food this winter.

 

“That was quite an ingenious move on your part, brother,” Hyoyeon said as she poured them both a goblet of wine. She received him in the Throne Room, and they sat side-by-side in the tables facing the seat of the Lord. “I wouldn’t have thought you capable of such trickery.” 

 

“I know not of what you speak, sweet sister,” Jaejoong replied mildly. “Maester Yongun insisted on making this journey himself. How could I say no?” 

 

“That the king will be much more receptive to us for your kindness was not a factor then?” she asked, eyes glinting. 

 

“A happy coincidence for us all,” Jaejoong replied, and raised his goblet in a toast. She snorted in a most unladylike manner and they drained their drink. “What are you doing, receiving the Dragon King within your walls? I had thought you aspired to be the Queen in the North.” 

 

“Queen in the North? You must be mistaking me with Kangin,” she replied, and they both lapsed into silence in remembrance of their oldest brother. “I did have that thought in mind,” she finally said. “But the North has been weakened by the turmoil as of late, and rebuilding our home must take priority over politics, at least for now. Besides, I have you to think about and I have been receiving troubling news from beyond the Wall.” 

 

“You need not worry about me,” Jaejoong said, frowning. “Our supplies and our men have been provided for by the North for years now. If the South has one less prison to throw their unwanted sons and criminals in—“

 

“The stories the men tell when they seek refuge in Winterfell,” Hyoyeon interrupted, “of men in white with crystal swords, of creatures and corpses returning to life who can be stopped by nothing else than fire. Tell me those are lies, Jaejoong.” 

 

He could lie to his sister, but Hyoyeon would not like that. 

 

“Is that why you are bending your knee?” he asked. “Because he has dragons?” 

 

“War will be upon the Seven Kingdoms again, and I have greater things to consider than a petty conflict with the King in the South,” she said quietly. “I have learned by now that life is not a song, but I also know there is a grain of truth in every bard’s tale. The rest of the Seven Kingdoms may have forgotten the Long Night, but the North remembers.”

//

Maester Yongun passed away the next morning in his sleep. No one was truly surprised; a calm had come over the old maester when he left the Godswood, and it was as though he finally allowed himself to rest. Yunho had wanted to give him a funeral worthy of his name, but Jung Yongun was a member of the Watch, first and foremost, so it was the men in the company who gave him the last rites of a brother in black.

 

 _“He was Jung Yongun, and now his watch is ended.”_

 

They would take the body back to the Wall and bury it in the snow. Yunho had wanted to protest. Jung Yongun was the blood of the dragon; his final passing should be in fire, not ice. But he had only known the man for a day, and the memory of their time together stayed his words. The Lord Commander lingered when his men wrapped the body and prepared it for travel. 

 

“I warned him that the journey would be difficult, but he wanted to see the dragons,” Kim Jaejoong said to him as they stood rooted to the ground. Snow was falling all around them, though the harvest months had barely started. “You should have seen him the day he first heard your name, I’d never seen a man so alight with life.” 

 

His direwolf ceased its prowling with a wave of Kim Jaejoong’s hand, and it trotted up beside him, coming to a stop on all fours in a ready position. Its red eyes watched him, and they were neither angry nor menacing—just wild. 

 

“He told me he’s watched over you since you were a child,” Yunho finally said. It was the only thing he could think to say. Jung Yongun had smiled when he talked of his young Lord Commander, speaking of him the way the way the warriors of the Tribe spoke of their favorite horses—the way Boa had spoken of their child as it grew within her. 

 

“An exaggeration,” Jaejoong replied, his lips curving half-heartedly. “I was only a week from my fifteenth name-day when I entered the service; by nearly all accounts, I was a man when I met him.” 

 

But Jung Yongun had seen him as child, and that made all the difference. Kim Jaejoong could forsake his family name and still have someone who watched over him as a parent would their offspring and speak of his achievements proudly as though they were his own. Such was the way of life, but still Yunho resented him for it. 

 

Yet it was more than just that. Ever since he met the man, he’d been unsettled—his pulse quickened, his speech muddled, and his body temperature rose too high where previously it had been too low. His very presence was disconcerting and he was appalled by his own involuntary reactions. It was unacceptable. 

 

“I don’t like you very much,” he said, because it was the truth—had to be the truth. His instincts had led him to countless victories and he learned long ago to trust them. To his surprise, Kim Jaejoong laughed, loud and halting. Yunho bristled and his hand landed on the hilt of his arakh. Jaejoong’s direwolf growled but before they could cause an incident, Jaejoong quickly came between them. 

 

“Our Dragon King is an honest man. I can appreciate that,” Jaejoong said, covering his smile with his hand. “You needn’t to like me,” he continued. “I shall serve my kingdom and its ruler all the same. Just remember, your grace, the other men of the realm are not like me.”

//

When Jaejoong left for the Wall, his youngest brother lay in a coma after having fallen from the Bell Tower. While he was at the Wall, Ryeowook had woken up, broken but alive. He had become the Prince of the North following Kangin’s attempted secession from the South, and then he had been brutally slaughtered in the Sack of Castle North led by House Kang and Shim Changmin.

 

Ryeowook’s death had been the last time Jaejoong tried to break his vows. Changmin was the one who taught Ryeowook how to shoot an arrow, Changmin was the one who pushed Ryeowook to be better when he wanted to prove himself, and Changmin was the one cut off Ryeowook’s head and disgraced his body. Swearing the oath of the Night’s Watch meant he had no family outside of his brothers in black, but Jaejoong had wanted nothing more than to make Changmin bleed. 

 

And yet shortly after the sack, the Wildlings of the North began telling tales of a legless boy who rode atop a silver direwolf with yellow eyes. Jaejoong himself had caught sight of that direwolf when he traveled as Ghost—Ryeowook had not named his direwolf before he fell from the tower, but the smell had been unmistakable. Changmin had not killed Ryeowook, and the revelation had cancelled out his rage, and left only numbness in its place. 

 

Three days passed before Changmin sought him out. They saw each other in the Great Hall during mealtime, but they sat on opposite ends and Jaejoong found himself averse to the idea of a reunion. In the end, it was Changmin, with his hardheaded Shim ways, who put his hand on Jaejoong’s chest outside his guest room one night after dinner and shoved him hard. 

 

“Lesser men have died for raising their hand against the Lord Commander,” Jaejoong said drily as Changmin closed the door securely behind him. He was no longer the boy who smirked easily and spoke carelessly, but then again, neither was Jaejoong the little boy who buckled under the shame of his illegitimacy. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

 

“Jae…” Changmin looked as though he had just realized what a Very Bad Idea this was. He had orchestrated the takedown of Storm’s End, he should have known better. “I…” 

 

“Where were you when they put a sword in Kangin’s heart?” Jaejoong asked flatly, and Changmin flinched as though he had been struck. “Where were you when they burned my father’s home? Where were you when Ryeowook--” 

 

“I never hurt Ryeowook.” His greatest weapon was said to be his quick, sharp tongue, but no one would’ve guessed that about Shim Changmin now. “I was in the Iron Islands, trying to gain support for my Lord, the King of the North. Then, I was still in the Iron Islands, trying to reclaim any semblance of honor after my Lord father declared himself a King and decided my sisters were more worthy of succession than I was. I did many things wrong and many things I’m not proud of, but never would I ever have harmed Ryeowook.”

 

Jaejoong had thought wrong. Blaming Changmin did little to alleviate his own guilt. For even if they grew up side-by-side, even if Changmin was more of a northman than he was an ironman, Jaejoong was more of a Kim than Changmin would ever be. It should’ve been him who fought by Kangin’s side, bastard or no. It should have been him who defended Castle North and protected Ryeowook, bastard or no. But he hadn’t, and as Maester Yongun said before, he would have to live with it. 

 

“Are you my brother still?” Jaejoong asked finally. 

 

“Truly?” Changmin stepped closer, so close that Jaejoong could feel his breath against his cheek. Then, he whispered, like he was confessing to the High Septon himself: “I have never wanted you to be my brother.” 

 

And then he curled his fingers into Jaejoong’s cloak and pulled him closer before capturing his lips in a hungry kiss. 

 

They used to play games like this when they were much younger. By the time they became interested in solving the mystery of girls, so to speak, the honorable Lord Kim had already put the fear of the Old Gods into their hearts if they dared to play careless games with the baseborn girls, and the highborn were too busy swooning over Kangin to pay the ward and the bastard any attention. It was never gentle back in those days and it was no different now. 

 

“Enough.” Jaejoong said when Changmin’s calloused fingers slipped beneath his shirts and found flesh. “My vows—“ 

 

“Your vows are meant to protect you from love.” Changmin breathed against his lips as his other hand twisted in Jaejoong’s hair and held it there so he could mouth against his neck. _Love was the bane of honor, the death of duty._ “You don’t have to love me to do this.” 

 

If he were a better man, he would have stopped and sent Changmin away. But Kim Jaejoong was only a man, and every man had a weakness.

//

He never desired to be a knight, despite what his family may have thought. Knights were tied down to land, to kings, to service; if the songs were to be believed. The thing he craved was adventure. He wanted to see new sights and experience new things—he didn’t need armors or broadswords to see the world. Of course, he never thought that by the time he had stories to tell, there would be no one left to hear them.

 

Kim Junsu had been present in the square when his father was executed. Disguised by dirt and grime, he had climbed onto a raised platform and watched as Choi Dongwook sentenced his father to death for treason he didn’t commit. Hyoyeon didn’t notice him in her state, but his father had caught sight of him. The Lord Kim was filthy from his imprisonment, his countenance was sallow, and he had gaze upon his son with a desperation that haunted Junsu's dreams. 

 

If he had a thousand words to say, not a single one escaped his lips before the executioner swung his blade. 

 

He had little recollection of what happened afterward, only that it was through sheer dumb luck that he was found by a member of the Night’s Watch who had been a friend of his father, and not the soldiers of House Lee. It was on his journey to the Wall that he was whispered the existence of a society of assassins and offered a place in their guild. When the King of the North was murdered in a shocking violation of Guest Right, Junsu took the man’s offer and boarded a ship headed for the Free Cities. There, he entered the service of the House of Black and White: the temple of the Many-Faced God and home to the guild of the Faceless Men. 

 

The Faceless Men was a society of assassins who worshipped the many forms of the God of Death. They trained killers, and they would train him. They did not kill for vengeance or hatred; they brought death to their targets as though a raven delivering its message--with precision and detachment. The Faceless Men could only kill those they were contracted to kill, and were not allowed to kill those they knew. The Faceless Men were entities who discarded their true identities and lived simultaneously as ‘Every One’ and ‘No One’. 

 

But Junsu still kept the sword his half-brother gave to him the day he left for the capital city, hiding it away in a safe location instead of following orders to discard it. He still recited the names of his death list every night before he slept, as though he were saying his prayers. He dreamed of his father’s severed head, of Hyoyeon’s screams, and of the calm that would surely come when he crossed out the last name on his list. 

 

 _Valar Morghulis, Valar Dohaeris_ : all men must die, all men must serve. Those were the words of the House of Black and White. They taught him to lie, how to kill, how to change his face with a wave of his hand; but they could not change his heart. Kim Junsu was the son of House Kim, and he would take his due from all those who had wronged them without an ounce mercy. 

 

_The North remembers._


	4. Part III

The story of Jung Jihoon and Kim Yoojin began with a jousting tournament. A legend already from its inception in terms of sheer size and grandeur, its notoriety only increased when the crown prince of the Seven Kingdoms dropped the wreath of blue winter roses into the lap of an unknown girl from the North, crowning her the Queen of Love and Beauty in front of all the realm. After that, the truth diverged. 

 

In some versions, Kim Yoojin was an innocent child, stolen away by a lustful Jung Jihoon, and her fiance incited war on behalf of her honor. In another version, Kim Yoojin was a seductress who enticed Jung Jihoon into bed, and he was forced to take responsibility for her breached maidenhead. In the versions the bards told to the smallfolk, far from the ears of the Crownlands, Kim Yoojin and Jung Jihoon had fallen madly in love and their forbidden romance had driven them into elopement. 

 

The truth died along with the wolf-girl and the dragon-prince, but in all these stories the people passed on, no one ever remembered that throughout the events leading up to the Choi Rebellion, Jung Jihoon had a wife. 

 

Her name was Park Kahi and she was a princess from the Sunspear, weak in body but strong in spirit. She had remained in King’s Landing with her two children as her husband waged war over another woman, hostage to the Mad King as chaos raged all around them. Then, when the Kingslayer from House Lee earned his title, the men from his house stormed into her tower, tore her babe from her arms, and dashed its skull against the stone walls of the Red Keep. 

 

They say she looked her murderer in the eyes. They say he raped her before he killed her, the blood of her children still fresh on his hands. They called it war: House Lee whose knights betrayed their code of honor and House Choi whose King forgave them. Only the Lord Kim and his Northern honor had called it what it was—mindless, senseless murder—and for that reason, Park Yoochun was kind to Kim Hyoyeon in the months following her father’s death. Her brother raised his banners, calling himself the King in the North, and she suffered greatly for every single one of his victories. Yoochun remembered a little girl with frightened eyes, a lamb surrounded by hungry lions. 

 

She was a wolf now. The iron curtain of courtesy that had been her armor was now her chosen sword. Men could not fight her with steel, not without humiliating themselves, and she used their pride to her advantage. Her late husband had been the youngest of House Lee, and now with them annihilated, she had the best claim to the Westerlands, the Warden of the West, and she was already backed by the Vale, the Wardens of the East. With the North, the East, and potentially the West…well, Jung Yunho would have to fight a war his dragons couldn’t win for him. 

 

She would never hold the south, though. In the deserts of Dorne, succession passed in order of birth, so even though Yoochun was the oldest son, the seat would pass through both of his sisters because he could be Lord of the Sunspear. Unless Kim Hyoyeon proposed marriage with Hyojin…

 

Actually, his oldest sister would probably be more than receptive to the idea of Kim Hyoyeon in her bed. Yoochun resolved never to put the idea in her head. 

 

 _Unbowed, unbent, unbroken_ —those were their words. Even the Conqueror who first united the Seven Kingdoms could only make peace with Dorne through marriage. The third child he may be, but a Prince he was, and the Sunspear would never fall into the hands of someone who already held three of the four corners of the Seven Kingdoms—not if he had anything to say about it.

//

“If you had planned to involve me in your schemes, I would have liked a warning, sweet sister,” Jaejoong said coolly, tossing the documents back on the table. “Your Lady Mother would not approve.” 

 

“My Lady Mother birthed four children,” Hyoyeon retorted. “And yet I am the only one who remains to inherit.” 

 

“So you wish to legitimize a bastard who has already taken the black?” he asked. “Are you mad?” 

 

Hyoyeon would have rolled her eyes, if she wasn’t too much of a lady to do so. “I can’t legitimize you without your consent,” she said. “This just holds that, should something ever happen to me, you would take lordship of the North. This doesn’t interfere with your responsibilities at the Wall—“ 

 

“The Lord Commander cannot declare for any House and he cannot partake in the affairs of the realm.” Jaejoong interrupted, his anger flaring. This was more reminiscent of the younger Hyoyeon, who charmed everyone with her sweet smiles and pretty words, but knew she could get her way with nothing more than a stamp of her little feet. “Maintaining neutrality has come at a high cost, I don’t think you understand--” 

 

“Kangin named you his heir before they murdered him,” she snapped, patience wearing thin. She had been in the Capital then, and only a daughter besides, but their brother had not wanted House Lee to have any claim over Castle North. Ironically enough, House Lee had forced her hand in marriage anyway, and it was that union which allowed her rights to the Golden Rock. “If that day ever comes, then pass it over to a man of your choosing and you’ll never be the Lord of Castle North even one day of your life—but that decision will come from you and not from the Iron Throne.” 

 

 _But you have placed me at odds with my duty._ He had clung to his vows when he had nothing else in the world, and they had seen him through. If he was posed to become Lord of Castle North, he would be displaced whenever Junsu or Ryeowook returned. Jaejoong understood her reasoning, for it was born from sensibility rather than affection, but that didn’t stop him from being annoyed with her. 

 

“There must always be a Kim in Castle North,” she said quietly, reaching out for him. Her fingers were soft and her nails were long; she’d never held a sword in these hands nor would she ever have a desire to. “My Lord Father gave you our name, not the bastard’s name. Besides, you needn’t worry too much. I don’t plan on having anything happen to me.” 

 

Empty words, said in false bravado even she was aware of. Anything could happen to anyone; Choi Dongwook had proved that easily enough. Suddenly, Jaejoong thought of something. 

 

“Are you planning to go south, then?” he asked bluntly. “Our Dragon King needs a Queen, is that why you are pushing for my legitimacy?, Because you plan on leaving Castle North yourself?” 

 

To his surprise, Hyoyeon burst out laughing. 

 

“Be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms? You think I aspire to be his wife?” She scoffed. “Queens are subject to their Kings. Wives are subject to their husbands. Queen Hyori ruled as regent for years and both of her sons walked all over her. No, dear brother, I do not plan to be Queen. I intend to rule.”

//

Jung Yunho had spent his entire life baking beneath one burning sun or another, and yet he found himself adapting quickly to the chill of the North. This was part of his kingdom, after all, even if it was unlike the rest of the Kingdom he had seen so far. They were a strange sort of people, these northerners. The gods they prayed to had no names or faces. They lived their lives in the iron grip of winter. Their men were bearded and rough, but their loyalty could not be bought with threats or gold. Their women were plain, but the noble ones were as honorable as their lords and the raunchy ones swore as loudly as the men. 

 

This was what Yonghwa was fighting to reclaim, but Yonghwa would never have taken to the North, not the way he had. 

 

However, the Lady in the North was southern in all the ways that mattered. She had danced circles around him in the peace treaties, somehow managing to be both ruthlessly polite and ruthlessly aggressive. He had been thoroughly outclassed, but he would be prepared to do battle her way the next time they faced off. The fight to win the throne was one of fire and blood; the fight to keep throne, he found, was more of a cruel game. 

 

On the eve of his departure from Castle North, Yunho excused himself early to tend to his dragon. The northerners had dug a crude, but functional pit just outside the castle walls, and that was where Jiyong returned to for rest. Yunho rounded the corner and started when he realized that his dragon was not alone. 

 

The Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch was standing just outside the gate of the pit. Immediately, Yunho’s hand went to the hilt of his dagger, but Kim Jaejoong was only tossing bits of charred meat over the top of the fence. More surprisingly, his dragon, who rarely accepted food from the hands of strangers, was gobbling up the pieces as though they had come from Yunho’s own hands.

 

From their awakening as hatchlings to their present, Yunho had been both father and mother to his dragons, and he knew them as only a parent could know their child. Jiyong had been named after Yunho’s oldest brother, who passed into the next world before Yunho entered this one, and if he was anything like his namesake, then the Seven Kingdoms had been bereaved of a truly great man. But even if Jiyong was the gentlest of his siblings, he was still a dragon, and dragons were not gentle creatures. 

 

He cleared his throat as he approached, the bells in his braids ringing softly in the wind, and Kim Jaejoong immediately stood at attention before bowing respectfully in his direction. 

 

“My Lord.” 

 

The proper designation should have been ‘Your Grace’, but few northerners paid much attention to titles beyond ‘My Lord’ and ‘My Lady’. Yunho beckoned him to rise with a wave of his hand. The other man had to incline his head upward to meet Yunho’s eyes and his build was noticeably slighter even under his thick cloak, but he inherited the same stillness than ran in his half-sister; if Kim Hyoyeon was a deep river, then Kim Jaejoong was a frozen lake.

 

“My dragons do not take to strangers easily,” Yunho said at last. The last man who had tried to saddle Jiyong was not a stranger to his dragon, but Jiyong had still set ablaze for his efforts. 

 

“Is that so?” A shadow of a smile played about Kim Jaejoong’s lips and though his eyes never wavered from Yunho’s face, his next words were not meant for him. “I’m honored.” 

 

Jiyong let out a resounding huff, as though he was in agreement, and a stab of annoyance pierced Yunho’s gut. It was unfair, even offensive, that his dragon had accepted the other man for no apparent reason when Kim Jaejoong’s wolf had not done the same for Yunho. 

 

“I had not thought dragons could be tamed.” Jaejoong continued. 

 

“Anything can be tamed,” Yunho replied. “Your direwolf is a creature of the wild, and you have tamed it.” 

 

“Ghost is not broken,” Jaejoong said, and his smile was proud. “I could not take the wildness out of her any more than I can remove every last grain of sand from the deserts of Dorne.” 

 

 _Do you speaking of your direwolf, or do you speak of the North?_ The men of the tribe had no patience for a man who spoke in riddles. Here in the Seven Kingdoms, it seemed riddles was all he heard. 

 

“Tell me about the Wall,” he commanded abruptly. Park Yoochun and Shim Changmin could speak for the rest of his kingdom, but only Kim Jaejoong could tell him of the Wall. 

 

“The Wall is a great barricade of ice, three-hundred miles long and seven-hundred feet high,” Jaejoong said slowly. “They say it is protected by spells, but our men guard the watchtowers anyway, just in case.” His dark eyes regard Yunho coolly. “But that is not what you wanted to know?” 

 

“It is not.” 

 

Kim Jaejoong was silent for a very long time before he finally spoke. “On my first scouting mission, I was placed under the command of Cho Banson, a decorated officer, second only to the Lord Commander, and one of the best rangers the Watch had to offer. On that same mission, we were discovered by the wildlings and before we were overtaken, Lord Cho commanded me to join the wildlings and learn of their plans. In order to prove myself, they ordered me to take Commander Cho’s life, and that’s what I did with my sword and a chopping block. Does that answer your question?” 

 

“It does.” 

 

The sun had dropped low beneath the horizon and torches were being lit from within the castle. Kim Jaejoong’s gaze remained steady in the firelight and Yunho felt a sudden need to test his stillness.

 

“What would you do if your duties placed you at odds with your king?” he asked, watching carefully. 

 

Kim Jaejoong blinked and considered the question carefully before speaking. “My duties are at the Wall and nowhere else,” he said quietly. “But King as you are or Lord Commander as I am, we both serve the realm in our own way; thusly, we should always be in harmony.” 

 

Yunho had hoped to hear an answer of fealty, but Kim Jaejoong had not given him the honeyed words he desired. Perhaps somewhere deep inside, he already knew what Kim Jaejoong’s answer would be, and he had just wanted to confirm his hypothesis—but what exactly he proved to himself, Yunho did not know.

 

“I wish to be alone,” he said at last. Suddenly, he couldn’t wait to be rid of Kim Jaejoong’s company. If the other man was surprised by his unexpected shift in attitude, he did not show it. 

 

“Your grace.” The Lord Commander bowed once more and then departed.

//

Jaejoong knew little of ruling, only that his men were most acquiescent when they were under an illusion of safety and had food in their bellies. The Riverlands was torn apart by war, but the Reach and the Vale were virtually untouched and they would be eager to win favor with the new king. His people may not have fish, but they would have bread the first winter of his reign, and not many Kings could claim such good fortune. Jung Yunho captured the land with power, he captured their imagination with his dragons, and now it seemed he would capture their loyalty as well. 

 

The best past was, of course, that the Dragon King could not have predicted this, so violently he had swept across the Stormlands and the Westerlands. Perhaps the Gods had blessed him after all. 

 

 _You know nothing, Jung Yunho,_ he thought, and smiled. Was this what Yoona had seen in him? An ignorant child who lucked blindly into every single one of his good fortunes? No wonder she repeated those words to him so often, one for every time he acted a fool. 

 

Im Yoona was a wildling woman, whose hair was kissed by fire. She was a skinny little thing, but her small hands could thrust the spearhead into an enemy as well as a man could. She was sharp woman in every word she said and every thing she did. She was free and wild, and Jaejoong was taken by her in every sense of the word. 

 

“You’re mine,” she had whispered that night in the cave as the falling snow quickly became a blizzard. “Mine, as I am yours. And if we die, we die. All men must die, Kim Jaejoong. But first we’ll live.” 

 

“Yes,” he had whispered back, reverent. “First we’ll live.” 

 

She was the only woman he ever laid with. Jaejoong was enamored with her and maybe he even loved her; but in the end, he lost her. An arrow found its way into her heart and she had bled out in his arms. 

 

_You know nothing, Kim Jaejoong._

 

Her favorite words, her dying words—he still repeated them to himself whenever he felt he was being reckless and they saved his life on more than one occasion. Did Jung Yunho have the same phantom whispering prudence in his kingly ear? 

 

No matter. It was of no concern to him whose ass it was occupied the Iron Throne. Hyoyeon had secured for him a direct supply line of food from the Vale to accommodate the sudden increase of population at the Wall. Once the deserters were taken care of, everything should level out nicely and perhaps winter would come easier this year. 

 

“Ghost, to me.” 

 

His direwolf shuffled to his side and he buried his fingers in her coarse white coat. They would patrol the Wall that night, Ghost from the shadows of the forest and Jaejoong from upper battlements. Rumors had run abound among the new recruits during his visit to Castle North. Some were about the Lady in the North. Most were about the young Dragon King and the creatures of legend he had brought back into existence. Yet others--and he was quite surprised to hear of this--revolved around himself. 

 

They called him a warg. 

 

They weren’t completely wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ If you haven't seen the rest of 's flawless graphic edits, [please take a look](http://shinyismybox.livejournal.com/10736.html) and send her some love! :)  
> \+ Ban = Half; Son = Hand. Together = (Qhorin) Halfhand. (*ba-dum-tch*)


	5. Part IV

In this day and age, the most cursed gift the Gods could bestow a man was intelligence, because those they graced with with, they gave no power, and those they graced with power, they gave no wits. _Such was the curse of the wise men_ , Changmin thought dolefully as arguments flew back and forth between the members of the King’s small council, _that we can do nothing else but watch._

 

The moment they returned to King’s Landing, the problems of the Kingdom had fallen upon them like the roof of a cave-in, and their work was never-ending—and somewhere between smoothing over the prides of the various Lords, all who were now seeking favor of the new King, and making sure all of them thought they were getting the biggest slice of the proverbial lemon cake, Changmin felt as though he had been reduced to a nursemaid to his fool of a Dragon King. 

 

He tolerated Jung Yunho’s refusal to have any man who served under the Usurper on his small council, holding his tongue even when he dismissed Jo Kwon, who was the best goddamn Master of Whispers the realm had ever seen. He tolerated Jung Yunho’s decision to instate four of his savages to high positions in the army, while overlooking the knights who had defended his kingdom when his barbarians would have razed it to the ground. He even tolerated Jung Yunho’s decision to rid himself of the Kingsguard, citing that his dragons were the only sword and shield he needed—ignoring that the purpose of the Kingsguard was to give standing and honor to the highborn sons who had not been lucky enough to be born heirs. But this—this would not stand. 

 

The first thing the Usurper did after claiming the Iron Throne was to take a Queen—because it was the logical and necessary thing to do. A kingdom needed heirs so there would be no question as to who the throne passed to in the event of misfortune. A kingdom needed a Queen to be the soothing mother to the King’s harsh father. Most importantly, it came down to that Jung Yunho’s hold on the Seven Kingdoms was tenuous at best. He had a name, but no House. He had dragons, but no gold. What he needed to do was to marry a girl from a prominent (and let’s not forget, wealthy) family and make her great with child—any fool with half a brain would know this. 

 

However, when first the subject was broached, it was as though war had been declared in the Throne Room. Lord Kwon of the Garden, that audacious old fart, had immediately stepped forward and offered his daughter. In terms of wealth and the sheer dumb luck House Kwon seemed to have in choosing the winning side, Changmin would have agreed with such a match. However-- 

 

“Kwon Yuri has been married three times to three men who have called themselves King, including Choi Dongwook and Choi Minho,” Park Yoochun interrupted with a drawl. “Thrice married and thrice widowed—a maid she may be, but what a cursed maid she is.” 

 

Lord Kwon had purpled with rage before he recovered his wits. “Who would you propose then,” he sneered, “one of your sisters, perhaps? The only one available hasn’t even approached her flowering yet—unless you plan on doing away with one of your brother-in-laws—but of course, that’s how you take care of business in the Sunspear, isn’t it?” 

 

Park Yoochun’s sword was halfway out of its sheath before Changmin finally decided to speak up. 

 

“Any highborn girl would make a fine Queen, your grace,” he said, allowing his voice to carry, and all eyes turned to him. “Kwon Yuri would fulfill her duties as Queen, thrice widowed or not, and Park Sunyoung would do the same, even if you had to wait for her flowering. However, the best match, I would think, is obvious to everyone in this room.” 

 

“Kim Hyoyeon?” Lord Kwon snorted loudly. “She is also a widow, don’t forget, and her husband was the Kingslayer’s brother. Is that any better, truly? Besides, the North is only good for wool and silver—can you eat wool when nothing else grows on the land? I did not think so.” 

 

 _I didn’t bring up her name, you did_ , Changmin thought with no small amount of satisfaction as Lord Kwon’s fingers rubbed together. Lord Kwon was nervous, as he should be. On paper, Kim Hyoyeon was worth more than his daughter: she was younger, she was from a more prestigious House, and she had more influence in the realm that did not belong to women—far too much influence, in Changmin’s opinion. However, before Lord Min of the Riverlands and could chime in with his offer, Jung Yunho raised his hand and the council fell silent. “My lords, I think you have all mistaken,” the King said slowly. “I have already taken a wife--” 

 

Just like that, a chill descended upon the Throne Room, leaving a deafening silence in its wake. 

 

“—and though she has passed on already. Boa was the only woman with whom I would share a bed with and the only woman fit to rule by my side as Queen. I shall take no other.” 

 

“Boa?!” choked Jang Hyunseung, aghast, “a savage?”

 

“Yes.” Yunho smiled then, a terrible smile. They would have a new Master of Coin on the morrow, Changmin thought, and felt sorry for Hyunseung then. “Now let there be no more talk of marriage, my lords. The dragon has three heads, as they say. Two more shall come forth soon enough.” 

 

 _Foolishness_ , Changmin thought faintly, but the afterimage of Yunho’s smile haunted him. _No, not foolishness—madness._

//

The dreams began when he was fifteen years old, shortly after he first came to the Wall, and at the time, that’s all he thought they were—just dreams. It wasn’t until his stay with the wildlings, the free people from north beyond the Wall, that he realized what they meant and what he was: a _warg_ , a skinchanger. He could enter the mind of his Ghost, run with her legs, see with her eyes, and slash with her fangs. 

 

Wargs had died with the Children of the Forest, thousands of years ago, and initially, the thought of being one of them terrified him; but Ghost was a part of him and Jaejoong could no more reject Ghost than he could reject his right hand. So he learned to accept the bond and allow it to thrive. Often, Jaejoong wondered if any of his siblings also possessed this strange ability, but the only one left was Hyoyeon, and her direwolf had returned to Castle North a corpse before she ever made it to King’s Landing the first time. 

 

Warging with Ghost was both a blessing and a curse. He saw more, he heard more, and he became increasingly aware of the growing presence of decay festering north beyond the Wall. More and more, the wildlings pour in, setting up encampments at the foot of the wall, offering food and pelts in exchange for shelter and protection. They’re frightened as well, Jaejoong thought, so much so they would venture near the border of the Seven Kingdoms they despised so much for a meager bit of security. 

 

Winter was coming, and it was bringing an uninvited guest with its cold winds. 

 

“Jaejoong! Jaejoong!” Jaejoong snapped out of his reverie to find Seunghyun stumbling toward him, a raven clutched in his hand. He frowned; it was unlike Seunghyun to forget himself. “I-I mean, Lord Commander, sir.” Seunghyun panted. “A new message from the Crownlands—“ 

 

“Bin it with the others,” Jaejoong said, irritated. He already sent back raven upon ravens, restating again and again that _’the Lord Commander of the Wall does not abandon his post’_ and that his visit to Castle North was already an irregularity as far as tradition went. He offered to send a representative in his place, but the capital had been adamant that he himself attend to the king’s summons. 

 

“But, sir,” Seunghyun paused to catch his breath. “The message says the king’s will send escorts if you continue to disregard the crown.” 

 

“Escorts?” Jaejoong’s temper flared. “What am I, a common criminal? I don’t have time for this.” 

 

“You should go,” Seunghyun interrupted and his expression was beseeching, and when he spoke again, his voice dropped significantly in volume. “They say he’s as crazy as his father was, that he lets those dragons of his run wild an’ that no one can keep ‘em chained up anywhere. They say he’s got no mercy for anyone or anything, and that he’s going to lose his mind any day now.” 

 

Jaejoong frowned. The man he conversed with outside the dragonpit of Castle North was not a lunatic. A touch infantile, perhaps, but he seemed perfectly reasonable; even his dragon had seemed fair-tempered. Then again, the southern courts was a treacherous place, a hive of gossip and secrets and house heads playing their game of thrones. Barbarian prince or not, Jung Yunho could not have prepared for this. 

 

“I shall ride for the capital at first light tomorrow,” Jaejoong conceded at last. “Hyunjoong is in charge until my return. In the event that I don’t...well, you know the election process inside and out.” 

 

“Of course,” Seunghyun replied, anxious. “You’ll come back, won’t you?” 

 

Five years ago, his lord father had his head. Twenty years before that, his grandfather and his uncle were roasted alive, flesh one minute, ashes the next. The south was not a place where northerners belonged, and Kim Jaejoong did not make promises he couldn’t keep.

//

For a chair that so many men warred over for the right to sit upon, the Iron Throne was about the most damningly uncomfortable contraption Yunho had ever had the displeasure of sitting upon. The Conqueror had forged it saying that a king should never sit easily, but he suffered fresh wounds at the end of every day, and more than once, he entertained the notion of melting it down and gifting the swords to a thousand worthy knights. Yet this blasted throne was his, as it should have been from the start.

 

When he was only the Barbarian Prince, he had ruled his clan under the laws of the Tribes. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, and all disputes were settled at the end of a curved blade. Men who disliked you spat in your face, but they would never lay hands on your horse. Here in the Seven Kingoms, it was all about wealth and power, intangibles and histories he didn’t know but had to abide by. 

 

A man sang a tawdry song and the council insisted for his tongue to be pulled out, for speaking treasonous words, but Yunho could not throw Lord Kwon off his council because the Gardens were rich and he needed their friendship—even though the man bent his knee to any man who had power to seize the throne. 

 

The land was in ruin from the civil wars that preceded his return and the Crown was in debt, but the council refused to raise taxes the first year of his rule. His new Master of Coin insisted the smallfolk would remember this kindness for years to come, and then turned around and insisted that he paid the debts of previous kings. 

 

“The Usurper is the one who owes money to the Iron Bank,” Yunho growled when Yoon Doojoon broached the subject. “I have yet to spend a single gold coin, and yet I owe millions, how does that work exactly?” 

 

“It matters not to the Free Cities who sits upon their throne, only that they get their return in gold,” he said, shrinking in his seat. “The faster you settle the balance, the kinder they will regard you in the future, your grace.” 

 

“House Lee always paid their debts,” Park Yoochun added helpfully. “Or so they claimed.” Eventually, Yunho had given in, but inside, he seethed. The Usurper and his spawn hired sellswords and he was the one who footed the bill. They had taken his wife and his child; Yunho had not forgotten. 

 

His people—not the smallfolk of the Seven Kingdoms, but the ones he had brought over from across the Narrow Sea—were restless. Raping and pillaging was their way, but now they couldn’t even do that. As the weather grew colder, the people of the Tribes grew weaker, and the ones the cold winds did not take were as equally resistant to integration as the civilized people were. 

 

Yunho had wanted to reclaim the Seven Kingdoms, but too late he realized that he had not given much thought to being its ruler. Everywhere he looked, he saw enemies. Everywhere he walked, he heard the whistle of swords behind his back. He began keeping Hwayong in the Throne Room when he held court, and when the punishment for a crime was death, his dragon was his headsman. 

 

Two months into his reign, the Master of Whispers began repeating murmurs from the North. “They’re stocking supplies and weapons,” Heechul reported at the small council meetings. “Men are gathering at Castle North and half their provisions go north to the Wall.” 

 

“I imagine that’s a fairly common occurrence in the months before winter,” Yunho replied dryly.

 

“I wasn’t finished, you grace,” Heechul said. “The wildlings have been arriving at the Wall in droves, but the Night’s Watch isn’t fighting them—they’re recruiting them. Word is that they’re preparing for war—but the realm is at peace. Take that as you will.” 

 

Yunho frowned. He remembered both the Lady of the North and the Lord Commander of the Wall, shrewd and strange, respectively, but he thought them at least honest—and neither had seemed the rebellious type. 

 

“Call upon them,” he commanded. “Let them come here and explain for themselves.” 

 

“As you wish, your grace.” 

 

His summons were declined. A tournament was held in his name at the insistence of his council, a wasteful venture that cost a pretty penny for all the supposed goodwill with the people it was supposed to bring. His dragons were on edge in the newly renovated dragonpit as much as his clan was in the Seven Kingdoms. The subject of his marriage and his lack of an heir continued to come up time and time again, with every lord parading their unmarried daughters out in court. 

 

 _How many of you would remain loyal if I did not choose your girl?_ Yunho thought. The Garden and the Sunspear were his greatest supporters, but they were also historical enemies; choosing a girl from either house would risk offending the other. The Golden Rock and Riverrun had lost their principle houses to war, and to marry a girl from a branch house would be an affront to all the other principle houses. There was always the Lady in the North, but… 

 

Then, of course, the greatest deterrent to marriage was the maids themselves. None of these bland, simpering ladies held a candle to the woman who had taken him as a husband, and to consider them as equals to his warrior queen was an affront to Boa’s memory. Still, the Lords hounded at him, so far as to send their daughters to his bed—he had someone fed to the flames for that—and throughout all of this, the North and the Wall continued to decline invitations to court. 

 

In the midst of his council arguing over the decisions of the North, whether to let them lay until the cold months passed or to force their hand before they became accustomed to impudence, something inside Yunho snapped and an angry red bled into his vision. 

 

“Enough!” he roared and the small council fell silent. “I am the king, and they will answer to me. If they do not come to me, then I will go to them. _I am the dragon and I will burn them where they stand!_ ”

//

The Dragon King reclaimed the Iron Throne and in one fell swoop, Junsu’s kill-list was halved. The Queen was dead, the bannermen of her House had perished with her, and though Junsu still repeated their names in the moments before he closed his eyes for sleep, it was as though a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He could truly become a Faceless Man now, without the burden of going against the vows not to kill those he knew. 

 

 _Or you could go back and be Kim Junsu again._

 

Kangin-hyung was dead and so was Ryeowok. Even if Hyoyeon had managed to survive, she was still a girl, and Castle North would pass to Junsu before it passed to her. There was always Jaejoong, but Jaejoong had taken the black and was illegitimately born to boot, so the responsibility of rebuilding House Kim fell upon Junsu. 

 

 _Will they want you still, knowing all that you’ve done?_

 

They might not. He had done all the training, mundane things and terrible things alike. He studied alchemy and sorcery diligently, and learned how to mold his face to another man’s with a wave of his hand. He studied the faces of other people and learned how to lie. He studied the movements of man, and learned when best to slip poison in their drink or steel between their ribs. The thirst for killing would not diminish so easily, he knew that, but suddenly, the landscapes of his dreams shift from the marshes of the Free Cities to the snow of his homeland, and an ache manifested from somewhere deep inside, one he could not easily root out. 

 

One day, the Kindly Man summoned him and presented him with a small glass vial. “It is time for your death, my child,” he said. Junsu had passed his sixteenth name-day not long ago, a full grown man by most standards, but the Kindly Man still called him a boy. “When you drink this potion, you will kill your true face and it shall not return, and henceforth none of the faces you wear will be your own. Will you drink it?”

 

Junsu balked at his words. “Why is this necessary?” he couldn't help but ask. 

 

“We are not called the Faceless Men without reason,” the Kindly Man said. “We are known as such because while we have many faces, none of them are our own.” 

 

 _I cannot_ Junsu thought, thinking of Hyoyeon, Jaejoong, and the direwolf he had left behind in the woods of the Riverlands. Nymeria would probably recognize him (probably), but one out of three was...not good enough. 

 

“Cannot, or will not?” The Kindly Man said as though he had read Junsu's mind.

 

“I…” 

 

“Who are you keeping your face for, child?” the Kindly Man asked. “Your family? Your friends? Do they still know you? Do they still want you, knowing everything you’ve done, how much blood you’ve spilt with your two hands?” 

 

Junsu wanted to jump up and shout ‘yes’ at the top of his lungs. Of course they still want me, Jaejoong loved me the most, he was the one who gave me my first sword, he would be happy and he would be proud. 

 

 _But years ago have passed since you last saw him,_ that horrid little voice inside him said. _The boy Jaejoong knew was a plump little crybaby. You’ve spent most of your cognizant life away from him. Would he still love you? Could anyone still love you?_

 

“I don’t know,” Junsu said finally. He should have given up being Kim Junsu when he first entered the House of Black and White, but time and time again, he clung to his name, to his list, to the little toy sword his half-brother had given him. He was the blood of House Kim, and he could never forget. 

 

The Kindly Man withdrew the potion. “Go back to your homeland,” he said at last. “Wear a face which does not belong to you, find the person who knows you best, and put a knife against their throat. If they cannot deduce your true name, then they must die. If they can, then you may never set foot in this place again.” 

 

“I understand,” Junsu said softly. His training was incomplete: his sword work was ingrained within him, but his mastery of alchemy was unfinished. If he did not return, then his ability to change his face would eventually disappear. It was a gamble—the worst case scenario being that he would be found out, and unwanted--but Junsu was willing to take it. 

 

_If they know me still, then I can go home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ A note on warging and wolves: _Wolves, are harder, One has to forge a lasting bound much like a marriage. A man might befriend a wolf, even break a wolf, but no man could truly tame a wolf._ (from [A Wiki of Ice & Fire](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Warg)).   
>  \+ [This is a piece of fanart](http://teiiku.deviantart.com/art/Jon-Snow-261946034) an artist named **teiiku** drew of Jon Snow, the character Jaejoong is based off. I'm just leaving it here because it's a gorgeous piece of work.


	6. Part V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warning:** Changmin/Jaejoong smut at the end of this chapter.

He found Jaejoong in a rundown little tavern a day’s ride away from King's Landing, and it cost him three gold coins to ensure that they wouldn’t be disturbed. The moment the unsuspecting Lord Commander opened the door, Changmin was upon him, forcing his way into the room and bolting the lock shut behind him. Jaejoong’s direwolf was nowhere in sight, thank the Seven—he wouldn’t have trusted the damn thing not to attack him on the spot for manhandling his owner that way. 

 

“Where have you been?” he hissed, stalking across the rooms and yanking the curtains close. There were still eyes and ears everywhere and this was a meeting he preferred to keep private. “Why didn’t you come sooner?” 

 

“My duties confine me to the Wall, and that is where I should have remained,” Jaejoong replied icily, crossing his arms across his chest. “His Grace would do well to remember that.” 

 

“You don’t know what kind of person he is,” Changmin snapped in return. It was idiocy like this that frustrated Changmin the most, Jung Yunho for not understanding the system and Kim Jaejoong for refusing to bend the rules. They glared at each other, seemingly at a standstill. 

 

Then, wordlessly, he reached out to draw Jaejoong closer and Jaejoong went unresistingly, letting Changmin pull him close enough to rest his face against the side of his neck. Jaejoong smelled like pine and snow, and though Changmin was never once allowed to think of Castle North as his home, he had grown up there and associations with smell never seemed to fade no matter how much time passed by. “You should have come earlier.” 

 

“Is he that far beyond reason?” Jaejoong asked softly, bringing his hand up to smooth out Changmin’s fringe; an old gesture of affection he never learned to break. 

 

“He lets his dragons roam free in the Keep,” Changmin murmured, unfastening the clasp of Jaejoong’s cloak and letting it fall onto the old wooden floorboards. “He dismissed the headsman and carries out all his executions with dragonfyre. The Iron Throne is a bloody mess at the end of every day, but he never goes a day without being king. Jung Yunho is a crisis waiting to happen and he’s probably as crazy as his father was—but I don’t want to talk about him.” 

 

Jaejoong swallowed as Changmin began methodically divesting him of the rest of his clothing, tossing them away carelessly with the needlepoint focus he usually reserved for archery. “Again?” he asked hoarsely. 

 

“You’ll father no children with me,” Changmin replied, hoping it was all the convincing he would need. Jaejoong had inherited his sense of responsibility from his lord father, but while his vows denied him many things, simple carnal pleasure was not one of them. Jaejoong let out a resigned sigh and that was all the encouragement Changmin needed. 

 

He shrugged off his doublet and kicked off his boots before shoving Jaejoong unceremoniously onto the small bed, briefly admiring the vast expanse of pale, luminous skin before he put his mouth on it. Jaejoong gave a shuddering sigh as Changmin kissed a path from Jaejoong’s jaw, down to the soft skin of his belly, and ending at the juncture between his legs. His fingers danced up and down Jaejoong’s body, leaving gooseflesh in their wake, and Jaejoong made a noise when Changmin laid his head against Jaejoong’s thigh, blowing lightly against his rapidly swelling cock. 

 

Jaejoong had always maintained a subzero temperament, especially when they were younger. Something about being a highborn bastard tended to rub people the wrong way and it was an effective defense mechanism even if it was only that—a façade. If those chattering birds could see him now, with his mouth open, head thrown back, breath ragged as Changmin prepared him and pressed slowly into him, his reputation would fall to ruins. 

 

_It was an old temptation. In the past, he used to corner Jaejoong in an alcove somewhere and have him on the spot, riding him just a little harder and just a little faster to see if he’d give himself away. They never got caught, but he still liked to remember the way Jaejoong covered his mouth, glaring through the haze of his arousal, the way his hips jerked when Changmin struck that sensitive spot inside of him, and the way he blushed after they both spent themselves and Changmin would kiss him even though he didn’t have to._

 

Here in the present, he started at a slow, idle pace, because Jaejoong hated being teased, and Changmin kept at that trying tempo even when Jaejoong bucked up against him, a silent command to hurry things up. Instead, Changmin pushed Jaejoong’s legs up further so he could bury himself deeper, and Jaejoong responded with a deliciously keening whine that he immediately committed to memory—every honest response Jaejoong had ever let slip had to be earned the hard way and Changmin learned long ago to celebrate every one of his successes. 

 

 _This is mine_ , Changmin thought, as the mattress squeaked with their efforts. When nothing else was his to command, not his birthright, his seat in the Iron Islands, or his seat on the council, at the very least he had this.

 

“I wish you didn’t have to come here,” Changmin whispered as he fucked short, stuttering cries from Jaejoong’s lips. Already, he was holding off the weight of his own pleasure; Jaejoong did always have that intoxicating effect on him. Changmin had taken him half a dozen times the last time in Castle North, but hadn’t satiated his desire in the least. “Wish you didn’t have to go back to the Wall either.” 

 

_Want to keep you locked away somewhere, just the two of us, so I could have you all to myself, all the time._

 

“Good luck with that,” Jaejoong murmured. He might have said something else too, but then Changmin wrapped his fingers around Jaejoong’s straining erection and stroked him back to incoherency. Jaejoong reached around and dug bruises into Changmin’s hip, a silent plea to hurry it up. Changmin ignored him and continued his ministrations lazily, even when Jaejoong writhed furiously against him. He rolled his hips and watched Jaejoong’s protests die away as his head lolled back and his eyes rolled shut. Then, he turns Jaejoong on his side, hooked his leg over his arm, and fucked him in earnest, hard and demanding, just the way he liked it. 

 

Jaejoong’s entire body went slack and then, slowly, his back arched as he spilled himself all over the bedding, gasping for air and cursing shakily under his breath as Changmin continued to work on him, fucking him throughout his release, never once breaking rhythm. He paused briefly to roll Jaejoong over on his back and then he slid right back in, marveling at the way Jaejoong clenched sporadically around him as Jaejoong shuddered against him, letting out an involuntary moan that set Changmin’s blood aflame. 

 

He glanced up and found Jaejoong blinking at him through heavy lidded eyes, languid and sated like a cat, and it was that look that ultimately pushed him over the edge. A startled noise escaped Jaejoong when Changmin crushed their lips together at the moment of climax, but then he relaxed and parted his lips acquiescently. When finally, he pulled back, breathless, Jaejoong’s face was set back into his normal expression, the only evidence of their coupling being a faint red flush on his cheeks. 

 

 _Would it be that I could leave a mark on you, the way you have left your mark on me,_

 

Lesser men may have stopped there, but the night was young and so were they. He could take Jaejoong twice more, a hundred times more, but it would not be enough—it would never be enough.

//

There was a distinct, putrid smell to King’s Landing that assaulted Jaejoong’s senses before he ever neared the city gates, and it took a fair amount of effort on his part not to twist his face in disgust. The capital city of the Seven Kingdoms was also the largest and most populous, for better or worse. The streets were lined with color and every surface was covered in ornate patterns, as fancy as they were useless. 

 

The citizens already donned their heavy winter clothing, and they stopped to stare as he rode through the city with his small company. Ghost was striding alongside them and he could hear their mutterings of awe, mothers clutching their children and men shaking their heads with suspicion. 

 

 _Summer flowers, all of them,_ he thought, thinking of the last brother of the Watch they had buried before he left the Wall. Sungmin had returned from his scouting mission with frostbite on all his fingers and half of his toes, and he barely managed to chatter out his report before collapsing in the snow to never wake again. _Cold winds are rising. Winter is coming. Say it however you like, these delicate southern blossoms will not survive the frost._

 

Their escort took them directly to the Red Keep, and despite his misgivings about the city itself, the sight of the great castle took Jaejoong’s breath away. The ancestors of House Jung had wanted to make a statement with this structure, and though he had spent the last five years of his life on another marvel of human architecture, Jaejoong couldn’t help but be impressed by the sheer size and grandeur of the King’s seat. 

 

The steward who ran out to greet them was a nervous young fellow, and he wrung his hands when he spoke. “My lord—sir,” he said, eyeing Ghost warily, “You are to come alone. Your men, your weapons, and your pet must remain here.” 

 

Jaejoong raised his eyebrow. He didn’t remember any rules that deprived a man of his weapons—but then again, that was Hyoyeon’s area of interest. Three different kings had sat on the Iron Throne while he was at the Wall, courtly etiquette probably changed every time the head that wore the crown did. 

 

“My men will stay,” Jaejoong said, unclasping the strap of his Valyrian greatsword and handing it to Jonghyun. “My direwolf will stay as well, and she’ll behave so long as no one gives her a reason not to.” 

 

“Of course, m’lord,” the steward squeaked. On all fours, the top of Ghost’s head came up to the steward’s chin, and if the ‘brave’ men of the Night’s Watch avoided her red eyes, what chance did a southern steward have?

 

The throne room was filled with people, at least a hundred lords and ladies in attendance, even though there wasn’t a court in session. The first thing he saw was the dragon, skulking behind the Iron Throne, hissing smoke into the air. This was not the one he had fed bits of meat to in the pits of Castle North; this one was smaller, pale cream and gold, and angrier than the other one. Then, he saw Jung Yunho sprawled on the Iron Throne. 

 

He was dressed like the Jung rulers of the past, in high-collared black velvets cut with crimson, a golden cape, and a crown of rubies and black diamond weighing on his brow. In all the fineries of the civilized world, Jaejoong thought Jung Yunho had never looked more wild. The King rose to his feet when Jaejoong crossed the threshold into the room and all his guests turned in Jaejoong’s direction. 

 

“On your knees,” Jung Yunho snarled, and that was when Jaejoong realized, rather belatedly, that there was a trial after all and he was the accused. 

 

Obediently, Jaejoong sank to the floor and touched his hand over his heart. “Your Grace.” 

 

The herald stepped forward and began reading the charges leveled against him: treason against the crown, treason against the realm, treason against the king, and treason again. 

 

 _Rebellion? What rebellion?_ Jaejoong though. And then, _Hyoyeon. Where was Hyoyeon._

 

“Do you deny these charges, Lord Commander?” Jung Yunho’s voice interrupted the herald and rang throughout the room like a bell. At least he had learned how to speak like a king. 

 

“I deny all of them,” Jaejoong replied swiftly. “The sole duty of the Night’s Watch is to guard the realm and that is all I or any of my brothers have done.” 

 

“Do you deny the reports that wildlings frequent the Wall?” Jung Yunho asked. “Do you deny that the shipments of supplies far exceed the usual rations? Do you deny your contact with the seat of Castle North speaking of war?” 

 

“No, I deny none of them,” Jaejoong admitted, and a murmur broke out among the spectators. “We maintain a symbiotic relationship with the wildlings, your grace. We have been preparing for winter, sire, but our war is not toward the realm, only those who would seek to do harm to it.” 

 

“The Wall was erected to keep the wildlings _out_ of the Seven Kingdoms,” Jung Yunho snapped. “Now you’re letting them in by the droves. Pray tell, my lord, who are these dreaded enemies you speak of” 

 

“The same enemies for whom the Wall was originally built for,” Jaejoong replied, ignoring the sniggering of their participative audience. _Summer flowers, all of them._ “The Others.” 

 

“The Others are a children’s fantasy!” Jung Yunho roared, slamming his palm down on the Iron Throne, impaling his hand on one of its many blades. He barely seemed to register the injury, glaring furiously as a servant boy scrambled up the steps with a cloth to catch the steady flow of blood. 

 

 _House Jung has always danced too close to madness_ , Seunghyun had warned him. _It’s the centuries of inbreeding to keep the line pure. One of their kings once said that madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a Jung is born, the gods toss a coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land._

 

With Jung Yunho, the coin may not have landed favorably. 

 

The doors to the throne room swung open again and Hyoyeon stepped through them flanked by two palace guards in red cloaks. To everyone else, she was as put together as any other lady in the room, but her face was pinched and there were shadows under her eyes that hadn’t existed the last time he saw her. Jung Yunho waved her aside carelessly, his attention focused solely on Jaejoong. 

 

“The penalty for treason is death,” the king said lowly, and behind him, the dragon let out an angry hiss. 

 

 _He means to execute me._ A rebellion that didn’t exist, and Jung Yunho would feed him to a dragon to prove a point. He should probably be more unsettled by this, but that had always been Jaejoong’s problem, he was always a little slow on the uptake. _It’s a good thing I left Seunghyun behind, he’ll know who’s the best choice for the nine-hundred and ninety-ninth Lord Commander._

 

“The champion of House Jung is fire,” Jung Yunho continued calmly as his dragon snaked its way from behind his seat. His hand was still dripping blood. “So all you need to do to prove your innocence is…well. Don’t burn.” 

 

His grandfather had died in this manner, cooked alive in his armor by Jung Yunho’s father. His uncle, who was his father’s older brother, had strangled himself trying to save him. There were hundreds of lords and ladies who watched them then, as there were now, and none of them would say a word or lift a finger in his defense. If life was not a song, then why did history so like repeating itself? 

 

 _I’m going to die._

 

Vaguely, he registered Hyoyeon’s unladylike screams over the din of the audience, but he couldn’t make out her words over the panic rising in his heart. He could see Changmin out of his peripheral, arguing vehemently. He could hear the buzz of the other council members speaking out for prudence, but all he saw was the Dragon King’s eyes, livid and angry. 

 

 _Anything can be tamed,_ Jung Yunho had said to him that night outside the dragonpit. _But who tamed Jung Yunho?_

 

His hands were trembling. 

 

" _Dracarys,_ " Jung Yunho said. The dragon opened its great jaws and then the flames were upon him, and its sear was red and scalding.

//

They didn’t call Jung Yunho’s father ‘the Mad King’ without reason. 

 

Yoochun was too young to remember, but he had heard enough stories and whispers to where he could piece together his own truth. The last king from the Jung dynasty before Jung Yunho brought the dragons back, Jung Jiwoon’s reign started as well as anyone could have hoped. He brought peace and prosperity to the Seven Kingdoms, and he himself was charming and handsome. As time passed by, however, his quick temper became a double-edged sword, and he succumbed to his paranoia, becoming increasingly suspicious and unstable over time. His favorite method of execution was to burn his victims alive, to hear their screams as they roasted, and many a good men lost their lives in tragic manner. 

 

Prince Jihoon was different. Jihoon was nothing like his father, he was a righteous man and remarkably popular with the smallfolk. Everyone was holding their breaths, waiting for the day when Jihoon would succeed his father. He should have been king, Park Kahi should have been his queen, and their children should have inherited the crown. Of course, all that turned to dust with a swing of the arm. 

 

When his father sent Yoochun across the Narrow Sea to seek out Jung Yunho and his dragons, Yoochun had his own reservations over seeking out the son of the Mad King, dragons or no. He found, much to his surprise, a warrior king, savage and strange, but noble. He could be the one to bring change to the Seven Kingdoms, Yoochun thought. He could be the one to finally bring stability and heal the realm from its war-torn state. Yoochun had believed in him and threw the support of Dorne behind him, and when they returned to King’s Landing to the cheers of the smallfolk, Yoochun had felt elation, for no beginning could be any more promising. 

 

Once the crown was atop his head, however, Jung Yunho proved to be his father’s son—except he had dragons, which made everything so much worse. 

 

Kim Hyoyeon was screaming obscenities, fighting against the Red Guards as they held her back. She swore at the king, using curse words filthy enough to make the ladies of the court turn a dainty pink. She called him a kinslayer at one point, but that was impossible and her cries fell on deaf ears, so focused Jung Yunho was on the Lord Commander. Shim Changmin had stepped forth too, but Jung Yunho would never listen to him on matters regarding the North. 

 

How sad, Yoochun thought. Most likely, the Lord Commander was merely misinformed or foolishly fanciful in his dealings with the wildlings—the Others, _honestly_ —but no one deserved to die this way. How unfortunate that Jung Yunho was unscrewed in the head and that Kim Jaejoong would be suffering his wrath. 

 

And such a pretty fellow too. 

 

“Your grace,” he began, because he was the Hand and it should be known that the Hand spoke his feelings openly even when his words would have no effect on the king. “Perhaps we should proceed on the side of clemency. The Lord Commander has serviced the realm for many years now.” _He’d have to be a remarkable man to be so young and maintain authority over all the bottom-feeders we send to the Wall._

 

“Indeed, your grace,” the Master of Ships chimed in. Cho Kyuhyun had no ties with the North, but his wife knew Kim Hyoyeon well. “It should not be said that a king—“ 

 

“The king can do as he likes!” Jung Yunho bellowed, and opened a fresh cut on the inside of his arm. The throne room fell silent. A few of the spectators in the front row began edging away from the Lord Commander, who was still knelt in front of the throne.

 

 _Oh well,_ Yoochun thought, sending an apologetic shrug in Kim Jaejoong’s direction that the latter did not see. _I did what I could._

 

“I’ve heard enough,” Jung Yunho continued, snapping his fingers. The dragon lifted itself onto its hind legs and when it stood, the top of his head nearly brushed the highest point of the ceiling. One word. “ _Dracarys_.” 

 

They say time stops for a man when he faces death. A sword aimed for the heart will come at him in slow motion, an arrow will fly like a sheet of paper instead of a hawk, and you will see them coming but be too slow to avoid it. Death by poison, fire, or water was the worst, for they stole your senses slowly and turned them against you, so you felt everything and nothing at all. To Yoochun, it all happened in a split second: there was no fire and then there was.

 

A gasp rose from the audience as the flames engulfed the Lord Commander. Kim Hyoyeon crumpled to the floor and Shim Changmin stepped back shakily and heaved into a corner. The expression on Jung Yunho’s face was terrible to see, for it was as though in that moment, he had lost all grip on reality. Then, all at once, a far greater racket rose from the gallery, and Yoochun turned back just as the flames subsided and found a sight he would not soon forget. 

 

Kim Jaejoong was still knelt in front of the Iron Throne, not as pile of bones, but flesh and blood still. He was as naked as the day he was born, for the dragonfyre had charred his clothing, but they had not charred him. 

 

 _Impossible._ Yoochun thought. There was only one man in the entire Seven Kingdoms, indeed, the entire world, who could withstand fire and come out unburnt, and that man was wearing on his face a look of unadulterated astonishment. The madness had gone. 

 

_Impossible._


	7. Part VI

When the Master of Whispers first presented him with the letters he'd gleaned from the ravens flying between Castle North and Castle Black, Yunho had dismissed the idea of a Northern rebellion with one regal wave of his hand. He was received graciously at Kim Hyoyeon's table. He had conversed with Kim Jaejoong, and Jiyong had accepted scraps from the Night Watchman's hand when he previously took food from no one else but Yunho. The idea that they were plotting an uprising seemed ludicrous at best. 

 

But the letters kept flying, stamped with the direwolves and ravens. The enemy is far greater than any we have ever faced. The Wildlings come with tales that would chill you to the bone. Winter is coming. _Winter is coming_ \--cryptic words, born from cold winds, and Yunho was fire and blood 

 

"If they were merely preparing for winter, then why do they enlist the aid of Wildlings?" Heechul had asked him, low and quiet. No man on his council embodied their title more than the Master of Whispers, but even if Yunho was slow to trust him, he couldn't not heed him. "You are the king, after all. Let them answer for their own deeds."

 

But Kim Hyoyeon and Kim Jaejoong refused every summon to court--in the end, what was he supposed to think? 

 

Yunho was no stranger to betrayal--he already faced two of them in his lifetime that would have ruined any other man--but how deep was House Kim's trickery if his own dragon could not sniff out their falsehood? If Kim Jaejoong thought he could fool a dragon, he thought, glaring into the embers burning at his hearth, then it only made sense that he was tested by one. Not Boyong--her flames left nothing of the man behind--but Hwayong would leave remains for Kim Hyoyeon to take back North to bury, and her rebellion alongside it. 

 

When Hwayong opened his great jaws and roared dragonfyre at the kneeling Lord Commander, Kim Hyoyeon fell to the floor in a dead faint and Shim Changmin, the North sympathizer on his small council, took a shaky step back before he was physically ill. Yunho watched on, impassive. He had become accustomed to the smell of King's Landing and the stench of burning flesh that permeated the throne room. In the past, it sickened him, but now, it awoke something inside of him, ugly and sinister that soothed his anger and calmed his mind. 

 

His father was notorious for his fascination with fire and Yunho was beginning to understand why: fire was cleansing. Fire had reforged him, strengthened him. Fire had gifted him with dragons and wiped away his adversaries as though they had never existed in the first place. Fire was his only ally, in the end--he could trust nothing else. 

 

But when the flames cleared away, Kim Jaejoong was still flesh and blood. A gasp arose from the spectators and Yunho himself rose from his seat on the Iron Throne, stunned. The flames charred Kim Jaejoong's clothing to cinders and he knelt in their ashes, naked as the day he was born, stricken but unburnt. Shouts sounded out, noblemen and ladies alike alight with shrills, but Yunho couldn't hear them over the sudden rush of blood in his ears. 

 

 _Fire cannot kill a dragon._ If Kim Jaejoong was still alive, then Kim Jaejoong was a dragon. _He is like me._

 

Someone had stepped forward and thrown their cloak around Kim Jaejoong's shoulders, a deep crimson that stood in stark contrast against the paleness of his skin. 

 

 _Red suited him,_ Yunho thought wildly--much more fitting than black. 

 

“Get out.” His voice was a whisper, but when he repeated himself, it was a roar. The lords and ladies, all of them useless sheep, scattered and they took Kim Hyoyeon's unmoving form with them. His small council hesitated, but Hwayong sensed his master's will and shrieked at them until them scrambled. Then, only Jaejoong remained, still standing in the circle of ashes, wrapped in red. Yunho approached him, and though Jaejoong looked wary, he did not shy away. 

 

 _No matter, he will forgive me soon enough._

 

He pushed it back from Jaejoong's shoulders and ran his hands over the pale skin of Jaejoong's face, arms, and chest, uncaring of how Jaejoong flinched or how his fingers tightened around where he held the cloak just above his narrow hips. 

 

"It's not a trick then," he muttered, almost to himself. Jaejoong was the blood of the dragon and the proof was right before his eyes. _He is one of mine._ The thought caused joy to blossom in his chest and Yunho didn't even try to contain the laughter that bubbled forth, smiling unbidden and bold like he hadn't in years. 

 

"You’re a dragon," Yunho said, eyes alight, half in wonder and half in mirth. "Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t Maester Yongun tell me?"

 

Jaejoong stared at him. "Your grace?" 

 

"You're a dragon," Yunho repeated. "You'd have to be, to survive those flames. If you're the blood of the dragon, then you're one of mine--the blood of my blood." 

 

Jaejoong pulled himself back and the cloak closed around him like a curtain. "You must be mistaken, your grace," he said stiffly. "My father--...no. I am a brother of the Night's Watch. I have no family." 

 

"I can change that." Yunho replied carelessly, confidently. "I am the king, after all, and you are the last of my House. After today, no one will refute your claim to the throne."

 

"My claim to the..." Jaejoong froze. "Your grace, I have made vows. My responsibilities to the realm are not mere triflings. The Wall--" 

 

"You're not going back to that Wall," Yunho interrupted with a snarl. The thought of losing another person whom he thought was the last of his family to the frozen North was unthinkable and he would not hear of it. "You will remain here, in King's Landing, by my side. I won't allow otherwise." 

 

The look Jaejoong gave him was pure exasperation, and he'd not seen it in a long time. Somehow, Yunho was upsetting him. 

 

"Your grace," he persisted. "I'm sure your councilors will have much to say to that, perhaps they will make you see reason--" 

 

"The Others take my councilors--" 

 

"--furthermore, I've not ruled a single day of my life--"

 

"--that is no concern, you will learn as I have--" 

 

"--you can't even be certain of our relation--" 

 

"Yunho," Yunho interrupted. "Call me Yunho." 

 

" _Your grace--_ "

 

"The King has spoken!" Yunho thundered. Jaejoong fell silent as Yunho paced about. He took Jaejoong by the arm and tried not to feel hurt when the other would not meet his eyes. He would make Jaejoong understand. "You will find that there are many ways to serve the realm. The Night’s Watch can find themselves a new Lord Commander, but there are no other dragons left in all the Seven Kingdoms."

 

"As your grace commands." Jaejoong’s jaw was tight and his fingers were clenched, but Yunho would change his mind in due time.

//

Kim Hyoyeon awoke and the truth of his parentage spread throughout the city like wildfyre. His father wasn't the late Lord Stark of Winterfell. His father was Jung Jihoon and his mother was Kim Yoojin, the woman he had thought of until recently as his long deceased aunt. It was on the lips of every noble in the Red Keep, every smallfolk in the streets, and they spoke, of course, as though it was fact that Jaejoong had been conceived out of love. 

 

"I'm sorry, I wanted to tell you before," Hyoyeon said wretchedly. "This wasn't how I wanted you to find out." 

 

“I didn’t want to know,” Jaejoong said, mustering a half-smile for her. “Still don’t, as a matter of fact.” 

 

He was still a bastard then--a royal one, perhaps, but a bastard nonetheless. The nobles at court accepted him readily enough. Already, they were offering their daughters, one by one, to a man who held no titles and swore off holding land--but Jaejoong could not forget that not a single one of them said a word in his defense when Jung Yunho tried to incinerate him. 

 

The King's Hand had stormed out of the small council in a spectacular display of fury when the Dragon King announced Kim Jaejoong as his heir, and he promptly left the city for his home in the desert. He had not forgotten the Princess Kahi, Hyoyeon told him, and he refused to remain in the presence of the Jung Jihoon's infidelity. 

 

"The King won't care about that," Hyoyeon continued. They were in the Godswood and though Ghost prowled nearby, a silent sentinel, her voice barely went above a whisper. "Park Yoochun has only Dorne. With you, he gets the North and the Vale--and possibly Highgarden, if the Lord Kwon has his way." 

 

"I have sworn a vow," Jaejoong said, and resolutely does not think of Yoona and how she looked with her red hair fanned out beneath her, how she had asked him, almost shyly, if he could kiss her again--a Lord's kiss. "Whether I am in King's Landing or at the Wall, I will not be an oathbreaker." 

 

 _Again._

 

"You're a child," Hyoyeon snorted, and she looked upon him with something akin to pity. "You're not in the North anymore and if you continue to act as though you are, you will lose your head the way our lord father did. Willingly or not, you're part of a dangerous game, and in the game of thrones, no one escapes unscathed." 

 

He had once been jealous of his siblings for being trueborn, envious that they could be taken to court and presented as Lords and Ladies of the North while he was hidden away and his name was spoken like a curse. Only now could he truly appreciate what he had. Life on the Wall was harsh, but it was honest and it was the only life he'd known since he became a man, in every sense of the word. _Kill the boy_ , the previous Lord Commander had said to him the day he gifted Jaejoong with his Valyrian longsword. _Kill the boy, and let the man be born._ Not everyone had the luxury of choice. 

 

"I'll learn." He said at last. 

 

"Learn fast," Hyoyeon said, patting his arm. "And beware House Kwon, they're not to be trusted." 

 

"House Kwon?" Jaejoong raised his eyebrow. "I thought you said Kwon Yuri was kind to you before." 

 

"She was, and it was a time when few people were kind to me," Hyoyeon said and she bit her lip. "But her kindness came at a price I did not know I would have to pay. Make no mistake, Jaejoong, Kwon Yuri and I are not friends. Perhaps, if only we were lowborn girls..." 

 

Suddenly, she looked so thoroughly miserable that Jaejoong's direwolf paused her patrol to bump her skull lightly against Hyoyeon's hand. Hyoyeon obliged, running her hands through Ghost's coarse white fur. "They're all gone," she said quietly. "Kangin, Junsu, Ryeowook, and now even you too. Do you know how big Castle North is? Do you know how quiet it is? And winter is coming." 

 

"It'll be alright." Jaejoong was never one for empty platitudes, but the courts were full of lies and he would have to start learning.

//

When Jaejoong finally appeared before the courts again, he was dressed in all black with not a skein of red anywhere on his form. The frown that crossed Jung Yunho’s face was terrible to behold, but then Jaejoong took his seat to the right of the King and the courts breathed a collective sigh of relief as the storm passed. Throughout the feast, Jung Yunho looked a different man, he was engaging and charming like the man Changmin had sworn his allegiance to on the shores of Dragonstone. 

 

Jaejoong, on the other hand, was wearing the same sullen expression he always got when he caught the Lady Kim glaring at him out of the corner of her eye. Usually that would have been Changmin's cue to drag him away somewhere, out of sight and out of mind. But--well, he couldn't do that anymore, could he? 

 

Changmin remembered how the Lady Kim regarded Jaejoong, like his existence was an affront to her personal honor. Many times, he overheard her pleading to her husband to send Jaejoong away, far away from her own children, and every time he refused. The Lord Kim never told anyone of Jaejoong’s true parentage then, not even his own wife, and even then his lies were not without honor. Here, Changmin thought he already couldn’t hate the Lord Kim anymore than he did, and he was proven wrong from the grave. 

 

When they were children, Jaejoong used to be jealous of him, because even though Changmin was a ward (such a kind way of saying ‘hostage’), he was still a highborn son and everyone knew to call him “my lord”. What he never told Jaejoong was how, when he returned to the Iron Islands, his own father deemed his older sisters more fit to inherit the Seastone chair-- _women_ over his only son. When the Barbarian Prince came ashore the Seven Kingdoms with three dragons, Changmin jumped at the chance to pledge himself, to prove himself a warrior after the debacle that was the Sack of Castle North. In the end, he proved very little, his victories muffled by the roar of dragons and his father still refused to name him the heir to the Pyke. 

 

Jaejoong did not look him in the eye for the entirety of the feast; he must’ve known as well. Changmin could see the way the King glanced at Jaejoong out of the corner of his eyes, as though he was searching for approval from the stoic Lord Commander and, for now, Jaejoong wasn’t giving him the satisfaction. He would wear down eventually—the King was too persistent and Jaejoong was too starved for affection—they all were. 

 

He excused himself early that night, and his previous brand as a Northern sympathizer became an free-pass and no one even gave him a second glance as he stalked out of the Great Hall. Changmin wasn’t like Park Yoochun, who could storm off back to his home in the desert whenever he pleased. The Iron Islands spat him out and he’d never belonged in Castle North one day of his life. He and Jaejoong had that in common, and now Jung Yunho wanted to make him a prince. It wasn’t fair that everyone was always taking things from him, when all Changmin ever wanted was something to call his own.

//

As the guest of honor, he was required by some unspoken rule to remain for the entire duration of the feast. By the time Jaejoong was finally allowed to retire, the torches had burnt the last of their reserves and he returned to his room in darkness. They had moved him to the quarters of the royal family in the Holdfast, and Jaejoong didn’t need a light to see how lavish his surroundings were. It was still a prison, for all its beauty and comforts. Jaejoong thought of his company, who had departed for the Wall with fresh recruits that morning, and wished with all his heart that he had left with them. 

 

“Jaejoong-sshi?” 

 

The voice belonged to a woman who stepped out of the shadows with copper hair and light eyes. Jaejoong had just closed the door behind him, so she must’ve been waiting for him in the darkness. The thought that there would be someone waiting for him in bed every night for him to fight off and send back to their rooms was repugnant at best. 

 

“Get out.” He snapped. Any other time, he would have tried to be kinder, but he was exhausted, his life had undergone significant changes in the last few days, and now he couldn’t even sleep in peace. “I don’t want a bedmate, not now, not ever. _Get out._ ”

 

She threw back her head and laughed, amused and dangerous. “I’m not here for that.” 

 

In a flash, she had him in a chokehold and his back was thrown against the wall. Then, he felt the tip of a thin blade came up and pressed against the hollow of his throat. The moon was only half-full that night, but there was enough light for Jaejoong to get a clear view of his assailant. Her eyes were blue, but otherwise, her face was forgettable. She was a small woman, but the arm that she had pressed against his chest was strong and unyielding. 

 

“I’ve been instructed to hear your last words.” Her voice was rough as her smile was demure. “I will answer one question before you die. Choose wisely, Jaejoong-sshi.” 

 

Jaejoong opened his mouth and then he caught movement on the other side of the room and the sight flooded him with tranquility. He turned back to the assassin and her eyes widened ever so. “Tell me who you are,” he said at last. 

 

“Who I am?” she asked, somewhere between bemusement and disbelief. “You don’t want to know who sent you? Who wants you to die?” 

 

“Yes,” Jaejoong said, hoping that he was right in trusting his instincts. “I don’t know who sent you, but I know you’re not the one who wants me dead.” 

 

She glared at him. “Don’t I?” 

 

“No, you don’t.” Jaejoong said, and his eyes flickered to the corner of the room where Ghost stood, alert but unmoving. “Wolves can smell killer instinct. Mine would have torn out your heart in an instant if she thought for a second that you were a threat to me.” 

 

Her faced twisted. “You’d stake your life on the whims of a wild animal?” she snarled, and her blade pushed into his skin, right between his collarbones and right then, every fiber of his being screamed at him to do something. “I’ll kill you and then I’ll kill your wolf, you stupid fool.” 

 

But Ghost was a part of him, like his sword-arm or his heart, and Ghost was still as a statue. If Ghost was not alarmed, then he would not be either. 

 

“Answer my question, or don’t,” he said finally, bracing himself. “You will not hurt me.” She drew her arm back and, for a second, Jaejoong thought she meant to run him through, but instead of thrusting forward, her blade fell limply by her side. 

 

“I can’t tell you,” she said at last, and Jaejoong was taken aback by the emotion in her tone. She looked as though she wanted to say something else, but then she rushed for the window and while Jaejoong had never once been accused of being a genius, he understood all too well the difference between _cannot_ and _will not_. 

 

He caught her by the wrist and peered closely at her face. They were standing in the moonlight now and even though he still couldn’t place her face, that expression was all too familiar. 

 

 _It couldn’t be._

 

“Junsu?” 

 

The name slipped out before he could stop himself. Jaejoong couldn’t say what possessed him to think of Junsu. Up close, they didn't even have the same eyes, but there was something in the way those eyes darted back and forth that was all too familiar. He held his breath and then the girl shook her head. 

 

“Junsu is dead,” she said softly. “I killed him a long time ago.” 

 

It wasn’t even Junsu’s voice she spoke with, but Jaejoong never depended heavily on any of his senses to detect lies and falsehood. His grip tightened. 

 

“We’ve been looking for you,” he said at last. “Hyoyeon sends out ravens offering rewards for your return. I ask for stories from every man who takes the black. We’ve never given up hope.”

 

“I kill people,” she snapped, and when she looked up, her eyes were glistening. “This is what I do, what I've done. I am responsible for more deaths than you can count. I am not your brother.” 

 

 _Ah, so that's what it was._

 

"Come home,” he said. 

 

She looked confused, so Jaejoong repeated it again, and again, and again, until finally her expression broke and then, right before his eyes, her entire form changed. Her breasts shrank, her shoulders broadened, her face lengthened into a decidedly more masculine jawline. The long red hair fell away and faded to a white-blond and Jaejoong’s breath caught when her--no, his---face finally settled. 

 

"Junsu," he breathed. His heart hammered in his chest and he knew Junsu could feel it, crushed in Jaejoong's embrace as he was. " _Junsu._ "

 

"Hyung..." Junsu's voice was small and his fingers were fisted tight in Jaejoong's sleeves. "I want to go home." 

 

"Come home then," Jaejoong whispered. He hadn't cried the last time he had seen Junsu, on the day he left for the Wall, but that was six years ago and he didn't know what loss was then. 

 

“You’d still want me?” The voice he spoke with was lower and raspier than the Junsu in his memories, but it was Junsu, _Junsu_. “Even after everything I’ve done?” 

 

"You idiot," Jaejoong snorted through his tears and he felt Junsu shake against him. "Of course. _Of course_. _Always._ " 

 

"Okay," Junsu said, and finally he smiled. "I'll stay, then."

//

  
_When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives._ \- Ned Stark, _A Game of Thrones_  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ I think it's worth to mention how much inspiration I drew from **[this video](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ygCH7Vt6oLA)**. (R+L=J)


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